★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Levi first sees you in the morning in the hallway outside of Erwin’s office. You’re holding a stack of reports tucked under one arm, your cloak clasped crookedly, and a half-finished piece of bread pinched between your teeth because you realized eating breakfast and walking to your briefing is an efficient way to multitask.

Levi sees you from the end of the hall and stops walking. His entire body locks up for the stupidest reason—because it’s you. He immediately thinks There she is. Then, because his mind is determined to ruin him, it adds, Her hair looks nice. He almost turns around and walks directly back to his office just to avoid facing you, but because he’s Captain Levi Ackerman, a man who has faced Titans without blinking and therefore shouldn’t be taken down by a woman holding paperwork and chewing bread, he keeps walking forward.

“You look like hell,” he says as soon as he’s close enough.

You stop and look at him, taking the bread out of your mouth as you lift your brows. “Good morning to you too, Captain.”

Levi stares at the bread, then your mouth. He tries to find something else to focus on. Maybe he can tell you your cloak clasp is twisted and Erwin will absolutely notice. Maybe he could ask whether you slept, because the shadows beneath your eyes look darker than yesterday, and yesterday they had already irritated him enough that he left a cup of tea outside your office and convinced himself he only did it because your exhausted handwriting was difficult to read.

“You look better than yesterday, though,” he adds, because he doesn’t know how to shut up around you.

You half-smile. “That might be the closest you’ve ever come to saying something nice to me.”

He feels his stomach drop. Was it? Was that nice? Had he been too obvious? No. No, that’s impossible. No one could hear “you look like hell” and think it was sweet unless they were deranged. But you’re not deranged. In fact, you’re too competent and too observant for his peace of mind.

“You’re insane,” he says, reaching forward before he can stop himself to fix your cloak clasp. The moment he brushes his fingers against your throat, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole. 

You freeze out of surprise, then lift your chin slightly as his knuckles graze the skin beneath your jaw. Levi’s mind goes blank in the most humiliating way possible. He hears the scratch of your breath, feels your pulse at your neck, smells the soap you use—because of course you would be the only other person with proper hygiene standards—and everything he’s learned in life to survive abandons him. He steps back as if you’d burned him.

“There,” he says, voice flat. “Try dressing yourself like an officer next time.”

You glance down at the straightened clasp, then back at him, amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Are you always this charming before breakfast?”

“No.”

“Only with me, then?”

He turns and walks away. Behind him, you laugh, and Levi immediately knows by the burning of his cheeks and the repeating Stupid, stupid, stupid in his mind that this is going to be a very long day.

He insults you again five minutes later inside Erwin’s office, where Erwin stands at the head of the table. Hange lounges over a chair, looking as if they’ve only slept for either four hours or not at all. Miche stands near the window quietly, as always. You take the seat across from Levi, who keeps his eyes on the meeting notes. He refuses to look at you. If he does, he won’t be able to stay composed.

“You’re quiet,” Hange says to him after Erwin begins explaining the revised training schedule for the week. “You’re either listening or plotting something.”

“Unlike you, I can do both quietly,” Levi says.

Hange grins. “That’s what I admire about you, shorty!”

You snort under your breath. Levi looks at you without meaning to. You’re clearly trying not to smile, one hand pressed over the bottom half of your face, eyes lowered to the table. He sees it all, because he always sees too much where you’re concerned. That’s the problem. It means he notices the loose strand of hair against your cheek, and the warmth in your eyes when you catch him looking at you. Levi looks away immediately, thinking to himself Idiot.

“Something wrong, Levi?” Erwin asks, quirking up an eyebrow.

“No,” Levi says.

“You were staring into nothing.”

“I was just assessing whether her paperwork is as sloppy as her uniform.”

You mock an offended gasp. “My paperwork is pristine.”

“It’s tolerable.”

“From you,” you say, pointing your quill at him, “that is basically a marriage proposal.”

Everyone in the room goes quiet. Hange inhales like they’re about to burst. Levi goes completely and utterly still. Marriage proposal. You said it as a joke. Obviously, right? It’s just a harmless, casual joke, banter shared between squad leaders when too much paperwork has turned everyone’s brains into horse feed. There’s no reason for his mind to take the phrase, drag it and him into an alley, and start beating him with it.

Marriage proposal. His mind races before he can stop himself, supplying a series of images: you standing at an altar, you and him in his office alone, your laughter at breakfast, your hand in his, your mouth on his—

No. He’s not going there again. Not now.

Hange’s grin grows wider. Miche looks out the window, but his shoulders shake with silent laughter. Erwin, who is the worst kind of friend to you both, simply looks between the both of you, silently filing this moment away for later to use against either of you when the time comes.

Levi picks up his teacup. “You’d make a terrible wife,” he says.

You grin and rest your chin on the top of your linked hands, elbows on the table. “Why’s that?”

“You’re loud, annoying, and you don’t even know how to chop a carrot.”

“You notice the strangest things about me.”

Levi drinks his tea to avoid having to answer, and even though the tea is too hot, he refuses to cough. Unfortunately for him, you notice his eyes squinting slightly, and your smile softens so much it nearly kills him on the spot. No, he thinks. I can’t let her do this to me.

He spends the rest of the meeting saying as little as possible, which would work better if Hange didn’t keep sneaking glances at him with barely contained excitement. 

Levi expects the week to improve after that. It doesn’t. The problem is that you’re everywhere. You’re in the training yard in the afternoon, walking between your squad members to correct their positions. You’re at the stables in the evening, arguing with someone about your saddle in disrepair. You’re at the mess hall the next morning, laughing with Nanaba over something silly, your head tipped back in a way that fully exposes your throat and immediately makes Levi think of how nice it would be to kiss it.

It’s nothing. It’s not attraction, it’s not a crush, because he’s a full-grown man and he has no use for romantic attraction. It’s just… a normal appreciation of competence. It’s nothing.

Then you bend to pick up a dropped training knife, showing off your ass perfectly, and Levi walks straight into a wall.

So, not nothing, then.

.

By the fifth day, he’s found numerous excuses to pass through the training yard—at least three times.

The first time, he claims he’s merely checking formations and whether the recruits are holding it correctly. The second time, he claims the training dummies aren’t being raised correctly. The third time, he says nothing at all because even he knows another excuse won’t fool anyone.

You catch him near the fence line with his arms crossed, watching as you demonstrate a disarming technique to your squad. “Captain Ackerman,” you call, breathless from your exertion. “Are you here to criticize my form again?”

His mind immediately says Yes, then No. Tell her she moves well. Tell her that her squad trusts her. Tell her she can command a room without having to do anything. Tell her—

“Your stance is less terrible than usual,” Levi says. He slaps himself in his mind. Stupid.

You turn slowly. “Less terrible? Are you praising me?”

“It wasn’t praise.”

“Definitely sounded like praise,” you sing.

“Get your hearing checked.”

You grin. Levi looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. Your squad disperses after another hour, groaning with exhaustion, and you remain behind to gather the practice blades, humming under your breath while the wind blows through your hair. 

Levi knows he should leave. He has reports, he has inspections, he has an office to clean and tea waiting for him that’ll oversteep if he continues standing here like some lovesick idiot. He finds himself walking toward you anyway.

“You’re wearing that wrong,” he says.

You look down at yourself, squinting your eyes. “Wearing what wrong?”

“Your harness.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’ve worn ODM gear for years.”

“Then it’s embarrassing that you managed to fuck it up this badly.”

You put both hands on your hips, cocking your head at him. “Alright, then. Fix it if it bothers you that much.”

His soul practically leaves his body, but because he has absolutely no self-preservation, he mutters, “Fine.”

He steps behind you and reaches for the strap crossing your back. It’s only slightly twisted, barely enough to matter, but he focuses on it as if the fate of the Walls depends on that strip of leather lying flat. Focusing on the strap is easier than focusing on how warm you are, how close you are, how you freeze when his hands settle at your waist to adjust the lower buckles.

This is normal, he thinks. You’ve adjusted soldiers’ gear before. He pulls and tightens. Then, he finally realizes this is not normal at all. He’s too busy thinking about your waist. How nice it feels under his hands. How nice it would be to hold it while he presses up against you from behind. Goddamnit, get it together. He tightens one strap, loosens another, checks the angle, then checks it again because he can’t bring himself to pull away.

“You’re awfully thorough,” you say.

Levi freezes. He hears the smile in your voice. A small one. Possibly innocent. Probably innocent. He can’t lean forward and investigate, because if he sees your expression, he may just blurt something stupid out like I like standing this close to you, and then he’ll have to desert the Scouts and live alone in a cave for the rest of his life.

“If you fall out of your gear, I’ll have to hear about it,” he says.

“Ah, so this is precaution.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re very thoughtful.”

“More like annoyed.” You laugh softly, and he finishes the adjustment too quickly, stepping away in an attempt to restore whatever part of his dignity just died. “There,” he says. “Try not to embarrass your rank.”

You turn to face him, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just survived an internal war. “Thank you, Levi.”

He blinks at the use of his name. You usually don’t say his first name. It’s always Captain, Captain Ackerman, or Captain Levi. Never just Levi. He looks away before his expression can give him away.

All he says is a simple, “Tch.”

.

You still don’t realize that Levi thinks of you differently, even weeks later.

Levi is rude to almost everyone, blunt with everyone, sparse with praise and allergic to any kind of emotional displays, so it doesn’t occur to you immediately that the insults he gives you are not the same as the ones he gives everyone else. You just assume Levi tolerates you, perhaps even respects you. You don’t assume Levi watches for whether you’ve eaten, or that he’s memorized how you take your tea, or that he once spent ten minutes deciding whether he should knock on your door with medicine in his hand when you were out sick one day.

Hange assumes all of it, and unfortunately for you, Hange assumes very loudly.

In the mess hall, you sit alone at the end of one table with a bowl of stew, a cup of tea, and a stack of formation notes you’re trying to read without dripping broth on them. Even now, you don’t know how to stop working. Hange slides into the seat across from you so quickly that the table shifts. You look up, raising your brows.

“Hello to you too,” you say.

“You and Levi,” Hange says.

You pause with your spoon halfway to your mouth. “Me and Levi what?”

“Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you haven’t noticed.”

You stare at them, and Hange stares back, eyes bright behind their glasses, their expression so gleeful it’s almost terrifying.

“Hange,” you say slowly. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Their smile falters, then returns even wider. “Oh, that’s even better.”

“Why am I scared?”

“You should be. I know something.”

“You say that a lot.”

Hange waves that away, then leans closer. “Levi has a crush on you.”

You almost drop your spoon into your lap. Surely they must be joking, right? The words don’t even make sense at first. They enter your brain, bounce around for a few seconds, then immediately get rejected by every sensible part of you.

“Levi,” you repeat.

“Yes.”

“Captain Levi Ackerman.”

“Yes.”

“Humanity’s strongest soldier. That Levi.”

“Do we have another emotionally stunted short man named Levi wandering around?”

You look across the mess hall at Levi, standing near the far wall, speaking with Erwin. His arms are folded across his chest, face blank as always. Nothing about him suggests he has a crush on you. The man looks like he was born to disapprove of everyone and everything. To be fair, he already does.

“He insulted my uniform,” you say.

Hange leans even further in. “I saw him fix your cloak.”

“He told me my paperwork was tolerable.”

“Levi considers tolerable high praise.”

“He said I would make a terrible wife.”

“He was totally thinking about you being his wife.” You open your mouth, then close it, because you have absolutely nothing to say in response to that. Hange presses on with a devilish smile. “He brings you tea, too,” they say.

“So?”

“Good tea.” That makes you pause. “He corrects your supply forms before Erwin sees them.”

“So? He corrects everyone’s forms.”

“No, he writes ‘redo this garbage’ on everyone else’s. Yours come back fixed.” You can only blink in response. “He always says something when your squad gets stable duty, and somehow those assignments always mysteriously change.”

“That could be Erwin.”

“It’s not Erwin, trust me.”

“Okay, well… he criticized my gear.”

“That was only an excuse to touch you.”

“Hange.”

“What? I’m observant.”

You sneak a glance at Levi again, and as though sensing your gaze, he looks over. His eyes meet yours across the mess hall, and you see the smallest shift in his expression. A fondness you hadn’t seen before. He then notices Hange sitting across from you, sees the wide grin on their face, and he narrows his eyes with immediate suspicion. Hange waves. Levi looks like he’s considering whether he could get away with murder. Then you notice—and you’re entirely convinced you’re just seeing things—the redness blooming across his cheekbones when he looks at you again.

Oh.

Oh?

That is, unfortunately, very cute.

Then you realize. It all hits you at once. The tea outside your office, the fixing of your cloak, the bread that mysteriously showed up on your desk, the fact that he somehow always manages to appear when you’re carrying something heavy, the way his insults land just a little softer when they’re directed at you.

“You’re enjoying this, you naughty thing,” you accuse Hange.

“Immensely.”

“If you’re wrong, I’m going to look very stupid.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You’ve been wrong before.”

“I’m rarely wrong in matters this entertaining.”

Across the room, Levi pushes away from the wall and starts walking toward you. You feel your stomach drop as Hange stands up.

“Good luck,” they whisper.

You look to them in panic. “Hange, don’t leave—”

“Be gentle. He’s not emotionally housebroken.”

They vanish before Levi arrives, leaving you sitting with your lukewarm stew, your scattered notes, and the sudden realization that Levi Ackerman has been crushing on you for who knows how long now?

Levi stops beside the table. “What did they say?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes. “Nothing usually means something.”

“It means nothing, actually.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

You look up at him and, for the first time, allow yourself to study him with the possibility of affection returned. He looks the same as always: tight mouth, sharp eyes, neat cravat, straight posture. But now you see the tiny tells beneath it. He doesn’t look at you directly for too long. His attention flicks to your tea, your food, your notes. His fingers twitch once at his side before he forces them to be still.

He’s nervous. Levi Ackerman is nervous.

You nearly break into a way-too-obvious smile, but thankfully, you manage to just tilt your head. “Captain,” you say, “are you worried about me?”

“No.”

“Well, that was a quick answer.”

“Because it was an easy question.”

“So you’re not worried about me.”

“No.”

“And if I skipped dinner?”

His eyes flick to your bowl. “You’re eating dinner.”

“But if I did.”

“Then you’d be an idiot.”

“You’d notice, though.”

Levi looks at you pointedly, and you smile. You see the visible tightening around his mouth and the subtle shift in his breathing. 

“Hard not to notice when someone is being an idiot in public,” he says.

You lean your chin into your hand. “You know, if you wanted my attention so badly, you could’ve just asked for it.”

You swear Levi stops breathing. You see the hitch in his breath. His face doesn’t change as much, but you see the subtle shift in his eyes, the catastrophic collapse happening behind them that he’s so desperately trying to hide.

She knows, Levi thinks, then with rising horror, She knows, and Hange told her. I’m going to kill them. “I have better things to do than ask for your attention,” he says, swallowing through the tightness in his throat.

“And yet, here you are,” you say, smiling widely.

Because he doesn’t know where else to look, he peers at your notes. “Your handwriting is messy again.”

“Deflection.”

“Mere observation.”

“You make a lot of those about me.”

“Someone has to.”

You laugh. Levi wishes he didn’t love that sound as much as he does.

You become an absolute menace after that. 

.

You don’t do it immediately—you’re too clever for that, and Levi is too slippery to corner. So, you start with small things, such as sitting beside him instead of across from him at the next briefing, which he notices immediately. He stiffens in response.

“Morning,” you say cheerfully.

He looks at the empty chairs around the table. “There are other seats.”

“I like this one.”

“It’s too close.”

“To what?”

“To me, idiot.”

You look at him innocently, batting your eyelashes. “Am I bothering you, Captain?”

Yes, Levi thinks, because you’re too close that he can clearly smell your divine scent, and because your sleeve brushes his when you reach for a report, and because he can see the little crumb that you must not have fully swept away on your mouth and wants to stupidly wipe it off.

“No,” he says.

“Good.”

Hange bites their knuckles across the table.

Later in the mess hall, you ask Levi to pass you a fork. The utensils are closer to you than to him. It doesn’t go over his head, but he reaches for it anyway, because he’s embarrassingly obedient to you. When he hands it over, you deliberately brush your fingers over his. Levi nearly drops the fork. He doesn’t, thankfully, but he manages to keep his hand steady, even though internally, he wants to run face-first into a wall. 

You lower your voice. “Careful, Captain. You seem distracted.”

He glares at you. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes.”

“That was also a very fast answer.”

“You ask stupid questions.”

“And you still answer them anyway.”

You catch his eyes flicking down to your mouth only once, only for the smallest amount of time, but you see it, and all traces of wanting to tease him escape your body.

For all your amusement, for all the fun of watching him unravel, you’re not immune to him. Levi’s awkwardness is adorable, yes, and his insults are ridiculous as they are normal, but you know how to decipher the way he shows you attention. He’s always fiercely contained. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to crack that composure just a little.

After dinner, he follows you in the always-empty corridor outside the mess hall, the one just around the corner. He positions himself in front of you, standing near a window where the moonlight cuts across his face.

“You’re doing this on purpose now,” he says.

You stop walking. “Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not. I want to hear you say it.”

He clenches his jaw. There’s no one else in the corridor, so surely, he can say it with little repercussions, right? Levi looks at you, then shifts his gaze away.

“You’ve been acting strange,” he says.

“I’ve been acting strange?”

“Yes.”

“That’s interesting.”

“No, it’s just annoying.”

You step a little closer, but Levi doesn’t move. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask softly.

“No.”

“No?”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“Then what am I making you?”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, he doesn’t seem to have an insult resting on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike. The silence stretches for a moment longer than necessary.

“Annoyed,” he says finally, crossing his arms.

“Ooh, that’s the answer you’re going with?”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.”

“Levi.”

His name again. You use it gently, and the effect it has on him is visible in the slight flare of his nostrils and his fingers flexing once against his sleeve.

“You can tell me to stop,” you say.

“I know.”

“And?”

“And I won’t.” Levi looks irritated by his own honesty, but he doesn’t retract. His gaze drops to your mouth, snaps back to your eyes, drops again before he can stop it, and this time both of you know. Both of you feel it. Both of you stop denying it. “I can’t think straight around you,” he says very quietly. The words seem to surprise him as much as they surprise you.

Your smile melds into a softer one. “Do you want me to back off?”

“No.”

You take another step closer. “Do you want me to keep teasing you?”

Levi looks genuinely pained when he says, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

You shrug. “A little.”

“Brat.”

You raise your hand slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he so wishes, and you touch the edge of his cravat, feeling the fold beneath your fingers. He tracks the movement with his eyes as if your hand is a blade.

“Do you want to kiss me, Levi?” you ask.

Levi’s heart drops straight through the floor. There are many things he can do under pressure. He can make impossible decisions with blood on his hands. He can move faster than fear. He can face death with a blank expression. But this—a direct question, so clear in its intent, asked in your soft voice while you stand close enough for him to count your eyelashes—destroys him completely.

But he’s tired of losing to himself.

“Yes,” he says.

“Then what’s stopping you?” you whisper.

He waits a second longer, just enough to make sure you don’t step back or retreat fully, just enough to give you the chance to change your mind. You don’t, so Levi kisses you.

At first, he’s too careful, his mouth pressed against yours with restraint. It feels like he’s holding back an army, one hand hovering near your waist before he places it there. You feel the tension coiled in him, the uncertainty buried inside him. Levi doesn’t kiss you with any sort of confidence. He’s scared. You can tell. So you help him. You step into him, sliding one hand to his shoulder and the other to the side of his face, and kiss him back hard enough that his breath leaves him in a startled exhale.

Then he changes. Some guarded place inside him finally lets down its walls as his hand grips your waist and his mouth moves against yours with deeper intention, having thought about this moment for longer than he’ll ever admit. Every insult and cup of tea has been leading him here, to this corridor, to this moment, to the relief of wanting you and discovering that you want him too.

And goddamit, do you want him.

When you part, you stay close, your noses brushing, his hand still at your waist, having forgotten to let go—and when he remembers, he still doesn’t pull away. He notices your smile first.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re totally blushing.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Stop it.”

“Levi Ackerman is blushing from one kiss?”

“You and your fucking ego.”

You laugh, and he can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his lips. Then he’s pulled back to exactly how you even got to this point, and his almost-smile curdles into a scowl. 

“Don’t flirt with me in front of Hange again,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because they’ll never shut up about it.”

You tilt your head. “And?”

Levi looks down the corridor once, then turns back to you. “And because I’ll probably embarrass myself,” he almost mumbles.

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you say. He looks slightly skeptical. “Levi. I asked you if you wanted to kiss me and you said yes. That was actually very impressive.”

“Tch.”

“For you, I mean.”

He narrows his eyes. You just laugh and kiss his cheek once before walking away with glee in your steps, leaving behind a very miserable, blushing Levi.

.

The days after your kiss are strange, for lack of a better word. You and him don’t announce anything to anyone else, which Levi appreciates, because if Hange finds out, he’ll never know peace again. But privacy doesn’t mean mercy—you’re too evil for that. You’re gentle with him still, but you’re also you, and you’ve realized very quickly that Levi’s composure is a door with a faulty hinge.

You touch his hand in meetings. You call him Levi and sometimes Vi in passing and watch him stop as his face flushes red. You smile at him over your drinks and soup and bread in the mess hall. You tell him, after one long afternoon of reports, “You know, you’re almost sweet when you’re pretending not to be.”

He looks up from his paperwork and accidentally leaves a line of ink across the page. You stifle a laugh. He’s not going to be happy when he looks back down. 

“I’m not sweet,” he says.

“Almost sweet.”

“Still wrong.”

“You brought me tea yesterday unprompted.”

“I always do. And you looked dead.”

“Aw, you noticed?”

“Hard to miss.”

“Because I looked pretty?”

“Because you looked dead.”

“Pretty dead?”

He stares at you. You stare back. His mouth twitches first.

Another thing that fits into your long, exhausting days are the stolen kisses. A brief one in the narrow hall outside the records room. A longer, messier one in his office after you bring him corrected notes. One in the shadowed stairwell that ends with him muttering, “You’re going to get us caught,” even though he’s the one who pulls you back by your wrist when you start to leave.

Every kiss teaches you something. Levi likes to pretend he isn’t affected by you, but he’s always betrayed by his hands. They start almost formal, then grow bolder when you respond, fingers spreading along your waist, your back, the side of your neck. He doesn’t make much sound unless you surprise him, and once you realize that, you become silently determined to surprise him every chance you can get.

He learns too. He learns that you like when he says your name softly, in the low, rough voice he uses when he’s too flustered to hide behind composure. He learns that you laugh into kisses when he deepens it out of nowhere. He learns that if he cups your jaw and tilts your face toward his, your breath catches so beautifully that it makes his heart flip.

One night, after a late strategy review, after Erwin dismisses the squad leaders and Hange leaves with an extremely pointed and suggestive look, Levi mutters, “Walk into a Titan’s mouth,” under his breath as soon as the door shuts and returns to his office. You join him because Levi still has your patrol notes. It’s just an excuse—both of you know it.

Rain taps gently against the windows. Levi stands behind his desk with your papers in one hand while he scans the revised schedule. Meanwhile, you lean against the edge of a cabinet and try not to watch his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You changed the rotation,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“It’s better.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Was that praise I just heard?”

“Observation.”

“A positive one.”

“You’re making it weird.” 

He looks up, but there’s a different look to his eyes, something worn down by days of wanting you and stopping and wanting you again. You feel your body answer, a warm pull in your lower stomach, the ache that’s been building every time he kisses you longer than you expect. Levi sees your expression shift, and he grips his papers tighter. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to start trouble.”

You push away from the cabinet slowly. “Would you like me to stop?”

He hates that question with a passion. Every time you ask it, it matters. You give him enough space to refuse, to breathe, to get himself together, and it makes him want you more than any stupid flirtatious remark ever could.

“No,” he says.

You approach him slowly. Levi sets the papers down, aligning them with the edge of the desk, as he always does. When you reach him, you don’t smash your lips against his—even though you desperately want to. Instead, you touch his sleeve first, then his wrist, then the back of his hand where his fingers rest against the desk.

“Stop thinking so hard,” you say.

“It’s what I’m used to.”

“I know.”

His gaze drops to your mouth. “You make it worse.”

“Good worse or bad worse?”

“Depends on what you do next.”

You kiss him, and there’s nothing quick about it this time. Levi’s hand rises to cup your face almost instantly, gripping your jaw firmly. The little sound he makes when you press yourself up against him is so involuntary, it makes your pulse jump and heat spread through your limbs. You back him into the desk by accident or maybe not, and he reaches up to grab your waist with his other hand. The desk creaks behind him.

Levi breaks away first, breathing unevenly, forehead nearly touching yours. “Wait,” he says.

You freeze immediately. “Sorry.”

“No, not—” He exhales sharply, frustrated with himself, then looks away. “Not stop. Just wait.”

You nod, sliding your hands down to rest against his chest. “We can wait.”

“That’s—no, that’s not what I—I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s no insult waiting on his tongue this time. Levi looks down at your hands against his shirt, at the simple intimacy of being touched without being grabbed or wanted without being cornered. He swallows. You watch the anxiety move through him, which might not be visible to anyone else, but it’s obvious to you now.

“I’m not…” He stops, then sighs. “I’m not inexperienced, but I’ve only done this once before. A… a long time ago. It wasn’t—” His mouth twists. “It was fine. But it wasn’t this.” Levi looks angry with himself for even saying it. “And now you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I—I don’t know. Like I’m—like you could break me.”

“I don’t think that. But you are nervous, aren’t you?” His silence answers for him. You lift one hand to his face, touching him with enough care that he nearly closes his eyes. “That’s okay.”

His laugh is barely a breath. “Doesn’t feel okay.”

“It is. I promise you.”

“I don’t want to be bad at this.”

You smile and brush your thumb along his cheek. “Levi, you’re not being graded.”

“That sounds like something you say before giving a bad grade.”

You laugh softly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I want you,” you say, and your directness makes him freeze. “I don’t want a perfect version of you who knows exactly what to say or do. I want you. Nervous you, awkward you. A you who insults me because you don’t know how to flirt—”

“I know how to flirt,” he frowns. “I told you that you looked better than you did yesterday.”

“That is the worst excuse for flirting I’ve ever heard, baby,” you whisper. His ears turn red, and you grin.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

You kiss him again. His hand comes to rest on your waist, your fingers slide beneath his jacket, and his breath hitches when you move closer. Levi’s anxiety doesn’t just disappear, but his nerves settle under your touch. With your comfort, he’s able to move through them instead of having them stop him. 

When you begin taking off his jacket, you pause, waiting. He nods once, so you continue, and the jacket falls from his shoulders. Levi catches it before it can hit the floor, and in a motion that stuns you, he turns, folds it once over the back of the chair, smooths the fabric out, then turns back to look at you.

You stare at him. He stares back. “What?” he says.

“Are you seriously folding your clothes right now?”

“I’m not leaving them on the floor like an animal.”

“Levi.”

“What?”

“We’re having a moment.”

“And I can have a moment and have basic standards too.”

You look at him for a second, then you start laughing, almost too loudly. It spills out of you before you can stop it. You don’t know what you expected, but you honestly shouldn’t be surprised that Levi Ackerman can be flushed, breathless, visibly aroused, and still be a clean freak.

“If you laugh at me right now, I’m leaving,” he mumbles.

“No, you’re not.”

“No… I’m not,” he says, irritated that he’s proven your point. 

You catch his face in both hands and kiss him before he can recover, and that completely breaks his restraint. He grips your waist as he turns you and presses you back against the desk, enough to make you gasp and make his breath shudder in response. You feel him tremble once, or maybe it’s just you, or maybe it’s both of you. When you slide your fingers into his hair, ruining his neat parting, he makes a low, strained sound against your mouth.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You tell me if—”

“Yes.”

He searches your face for any hesitation. “Don’t just say it because—”

“Levi,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “I promise. I’ll tell you. You tell me too.”

He swallows, then he nods. He folds his cravat next, because that’s also non-negotiable, and you bite your lip so hard to keep yourself from laughing that he points at you and says, “Don’t.” You help him with your own clothes and he tries not to stare too obviously until you step closer and guide his hands to you.

“You can touch me,” you say.

He flexes his fingers. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not trying to be an idiot.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“But I trust you.”

Levi pulls you into the adjoining room—his quarters, a space you’ve only seen in glimpses before. He leads you there with your hand in his, fingers laced tight. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you both stare at each other. You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you both begin shedding the rest of what you’re wearing.

Levi pauses, his shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes flicking over you with that same mix of hunger and hesitation that’s been building for weeks. “Can I… undress you?” He sounds like he’s asking for permission to breathe.

You nod. “Yes.”

He exhales, the sound shaky, and steps closer. His hands rise to your shoulders first, sliding your shirt off. He follows the path of the fabric with his mouth, soft kisses pressed to the curve of your shoulder, then the side of your neck. His breath is warm.

Then you feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they roam lower, tracing the line of your ribs, the dip of your waist, mapping you without looking. He tugs at the rest of your clothes, peeling them away until you’re bare before him. His eyes are dark and wide with want. He can’t believe that you’re real, that you’re here, that you want him. The anxiety spikes again, making his hands shake just enough that you notice.

You reach up, covering one of his trembling hands with yours. You whisper against his ear, “It’s okay, Levi. Breathe. I’m right here with you.”

You see his shoulders loosen by a fraction. He presses a longer kiss to your neck, sucking gently at the skin until a bruise blooms. He then pulls back to finish undressing himself. You don’t pay attention to where the rest of his clothes end up, because by the time they’re off, he’s guiding you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as he climbs over you.

He doesn’t hesitate when he shifts lower and settles between your thighs. Without warning, he dives in, mouth hot against you as his tongue strokes in a long, slow lick. It sends a jolt straight through your core. You jump, a gasp tearing from your throat. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through his locks and gripping tight. The sensation is overwhelming despite its lightness.

Levi pulls up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, then you see the panic overtake him. “I’m sorry, I should have asked first, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe out quickly, your grip on his hair easing but not releasing. “I was just surprised. It felt good—really good. Please, keep going.”

You see the relief wash over him. Something hungrier takes its place. He nods once, then lowers himself again. His tongue teases your clit in firm strokes, alternating pressure that makes your hips twitch upward. At the same time, one hand slides between your legs, fingers slicking through your folds before one presses inside, curling just right as he adds a second.

The combination is devastating—his mouth sucking and licking with growing confidence, fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm that gathers heat in your belly. Levi’s thoughts race. He wants you to feel good. He wants to make you fall apart—and it shows in the way he devours you. His tongue flicks faster over your sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers work deeper, scissoring gently to stretch you.

Your moans threaten to spill out too loud, so you grab the corner of the pillow and bite down hard, the fabric muffling the sounds as your back arches. Levi notices, glancing up with a small, breathless laugh. 

“Cute,” he says, the word soft and fond before he doubles his efforts. His tongue presses flat and broad, then flicks rapidly while his fingers pump in time. The wet sounds of it mix with your muffled gasps. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter, your thighs trembling around his head as he pushes you higher.

Your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Your body clenches around his fingers as you ride it out, hips rolling against his mouth. He doesn’t pull away, licking you through every pulse, drinking you in with appreciative sounds until the peak fades and you’re left panting. The pillow is still clutched in your teeth.

Only then does he ease back. He presses gentle kisses to your inner thighs before crawling up your body again. His lips find yours in a deep, lingering kiss. The taste of you is shared between you. He presses against you, hard and aching to feel you, but he’s content to just hold you close. 

He trails kisses from your jaw down to the middle of your throat. You feel the rapid beating of his heart against your chest, matching your own. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes are dark and wide, but you can see the flicker of anxiety within them—the hesitation that he's been dragging with him the moment you stepped into his quarters.

“I want to,” he says. His fingers trace your hipbones. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t—” He stops, clenching his jaw, searching for the right words that won’t make him sound as vulnerable as he feels inside. 

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “We go slow. We stop if anything feels wrong. I trust you, Levi.”

The sound of his name seems to unlock something in him. He exhales shakily, nodding once, and shifts his hips to align with you. His length presses against your entrance. You feel the tremor that runs through his arms as he braces himself above you. He’s trying so hard to be controlled, to be careful—but you can see the strain in his shoulders and his breath hitching.

He pushes in slowly, and the stretch is intense. Your breath catches, back arching slightly as your body adjusts. He’s thicker than you anticipated, filling you almost overwhelmingly. Levi notices instantly and freezes, his eyes snapping to yours with panic.

“Are you—should I stop?” he gasps, already starting to pull out.

“No!” you manage to say, gripping his shoulders tight. You wait a moment, letting yourself relax around him. Then you let out a breathy laugh that’s half wonder and half sensation. “You’re just… you’re big. Really big.”

Levi scoffs, though the sound is strained and his face is flushed. “Stop exaggerating,” he mutters. He’s still holding himself perfectly still, afraid of causing you pain by moving.

“I’m not exaggerating,” you insist, squirming slightly beneath him, which makes him groan low in his throat. “I need a minute to adjust. You’re filling me up so much, Levi.”

The explicit confirmation completely breaks him. His face goes red—truly, deeply red, even coloring the tips of his ears—and he lets out a choked sound of embarrassment. He ducks his head down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, hiding from you. You feel the heat of his blush against your skin and his chest rising with mortified breaths.

You can’t help the small giggle that comes out. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close. “Hey,” you whisper. “It’s a good thing. I promise. Just… give me a second.”

He mumbles something unintelligible against your neck. His hands slide down to grip your waist. You feel the slight shaking of them. Even now, while he’s joined with you, he can’t shake his nerves. It’s almost endearing.

Once the initial burn eases into a pleasant ache, you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper. “Okay,” you breathe. “Okay, move. Please.”

Levi lifts his head slowly. His expression is still flushed, eyes glassy with arousal. He searches your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he begins to move. His first thrusts are almost torturous in their gentleness. He rocks into you with shallow rolls of his hips, testing the rhythm and depth, watching your face carefully for any adverse reactions. 

“You feel,” he starts, then stops, letting out a sharp breath. “You feel too good. I can’t—”

“Then don’t hold back,” you tell him, dragging your nails down his back. “Let go, Levi. I can take it.”

The leash around his neck snaps. His pace quickens, thrusts deepening as he loses himself in the sensation of you wrapped around him. The bed shifts beneath you, the frame groaning as he moves faster and harder. The sound of your skin meeting grows louder in the quiet room. He’s still trying to maintain some control—you see it in the strain of his neck muscles. But it’s slipping, eroding with every clench of your body around him.

You look up at him, watching the first bead of sweat forming on his forehead. His hair has fallen into his eyes. He’s beautiful like this—undone and desperate. 

“Captain,” you whisper.

Levi’s eyes flash. He responds with a single, brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs and causes you to throw your head back against the pillow. You cry out, hands flying to grip his biceps. Your nails dig in hard enough to leave marks. 

He doesn’t apologize. He leans down, kissing you as he continues to drive into you. His tongue sweeps through your mouth, devouring, and you meet him eagerly. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he increases his pace. The kiss becomes messy, teeth clicking, breaths mingling in gasps. He pistons his hips, each thrust rocking the bed against the wall.

You’re his. That’s the only thought in his mind now, primal, washing away the last of his nerves. You’re here and you’re his and you want this, want him. He can’t focus on the kiss anymore, can’t split his attention between the taste of your mouth and the heat gripping him so perfectly. He breaks away with a low sound, forehead dropping to rest against yours. His eyes squeeze shut. He surrenders completely to the need pounding through him.

His hips become relentless, a rhythm that has you gasping and clutching at him. You feel the tension coiling low in your belly again. The friction of him drags against your walls, building you toward another peak. The sounds coming from you are embarrassingly loud—moans and whines that seem to echo. You instinctively raise a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the noise.

Levi’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can hide your sounds. He pins your arm back against the pillow, then does the same with the other. He traps both wrists in one of his hands above your head. His eyes open, burning into yours.

“Don’t,” he growls, voice gravelly. “Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear you. Need to hear you.” He ruts in particularly hard, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. “Louder,” he demands, practically begging. “Please, let me hear how good I’m making you feel. Let me—fuck—let me hear it.”

His words, the desperation in them, the way he’s holding you open and vulnerable while he pounds into you, has your toes curling and back arching off the bed. You let the sounds come freely, cries of his name breaking from your lips. He groans in response, a visceral sound of satisfaction. His free hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in circling strokes.

“Levi—” you gasp, straining against his grip. “I’m close, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me,” he pants. His own rhythm falters slightly as his own peak barrels down on him. “Cum on my cock, let me feel you—”

The coil snaps. You cry out loudly as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your cunt clamps down on him so tightly he curses, a strained, filthy sound. He keeps thrusting through your climax, dragging out the bliss until his own control breaks.

With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his body locking into place above you. You feel him pulse inside you, feel the heat of his release flooding you as he cums with a ragged groan. He collapses forward, but catches himself on one arm. The other releases your wrists to cradle your face instead. 

He kisses you messily as he empties himself into you, his hips giving small, involuntary jerks with each pulse of his orgasm. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He kisses you through the falling peak, his tongue languid against yours now. When he finally pulls back slightly, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed. The anxiety has been completely washed away and replaced by something sated.

“You okay?” he mutters, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You laugh and press a kiss to his jaw. “Better than okay. You?”

He huffs out a sound that might be a laugh. He hides his face in your neck again. “Yeah,” he breathes against your skin. “Yeah. I’m good. We’re good.”

When he pulls back again, you see the color high on his cheeks again. He slowly withdraws and falls beside you. The room is dark except for the grey light from the window. Levi lies stiffly at first—as if sharing a bed with you is somehow more intimate than the sex. You almost laugh again, but then you see the uncertainty in his expression. 

You touch his bare chest, fingers stroking his skin. He looks at you. “You can relax,” you whisper.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re all tense like you’re on trial.”

His mouth twitches, so you move closer, resting your head on his shoulder. After a moment, his arm wraps around you, tentative for half a second before it relaxes, drawing you against him.

“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

“Tch. You’re annoying.”

“You like me.”

He’s quiet for long enough that you think he’s either asleep or just ignoring you, but then his arm tightens around you.

“Yeah,” he says.

.

Morning arrives. You don’t know where you are at first. There’s a strange warmth at your back, light pouring through at an angle that you usually don’t see in your room, the faint smell of black tea and clean linen, and an arm resting around your waist. 

Then Levi shifts behind you, and everything comes rushing back to you so fast your only response is a small squeak. You remember the office, his confession, his stupid folded jacket, his mouth and hands, his body fitting against yours.

You turn carefully. Levi is awake, his hair slightly disheveled as his eyes fix on you, less guarded than usual. “Morning,” you whisper.

He stares at you for a few seconds, then, because he’s Levi and doesn’t know what else to say, he says, “You drool.”

You open your mouth in offense. “I do not.”

“You did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“On my pillow.”

“You’re lying.”

“Badly, apparently, since you’re not convinced.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, but he grabs your wrist without the intent to stop you. He brushes his thumb over your inner wrist once. You look past him and notice his boots aligned near the wall, his pants half-folded on the chair beside it. Then, on the floor near the foot of the bed, you see his shirt. Wrinkled and abandoned and scandalously unfolded. Your eyes widen with joy. He follows your gaze, then freezes.

“Oh,” you say softly, “Captain.”

“No.”

“You left that on the floor.”

“Stop.”

“Like an animal.”

He groans and closes his eyes. You start laughing before you can help it, and he rolls onto his back with a long sigh. He knows it’s way too early in the morning for such nonsense. You know it too. Will you stop? Absolutely not.

“I—I was distracted,” he stammers.

“You? Distracted?”

“Don’t sound so happy about it.”

“I’m incredibly happy about it.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters.

Levi realizes what he said at the exact same moment you do. He opens his eyes, but he doesn’t turn to look at you yet. He stares at the ceiling, wondering if it’s possible to just disappear off the face of the earth forever. You turn toward him slowly, your grin widening and softening at the same time.

“You love me?” you tease.

His face changes in increments: irritation, realization, horror, resignation. “No.”

“Really? You just said it though.”

“I’m tired.”

“So am I, and I’m talking just fine.”

“Fine. Then I was… vulnerable.”

“That’s even worse for you.”

“Shut up.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him while your heart beats hard. “You love me.”

Levi stares at the ceiling, hoping it’ll fall on him and crush him at this very moment. Then, with a sigh that sounds like it was dragged from the very bottom of his soul, he reaches for you and pulls you down against him, hiding his face near your neck where you can’t see the color in his cheeks.

“You’re making this weird,” he says.

“It is weird.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“It definitely does. You insulted me for months because you had a crush.”

“I brought you tea.”

“You called me sloppy.”

“You were sloppy.”

“You also fixed my cloak. What was that about?”

“It was crooked.”

“And you told me my paperwork was tolerable.”

“It was.”

“Marriage proposal,” you whisper.

He groans into your shoulder. You laugh, smiling into his hair. Levi doesn’t tell you to stop, and instead just holds you there, letting the morning continue in all its noise and duty, while the two of you exist in the aftermath of your surrender to each other.

Levi still has no idea what to do with romantic feelings. They’ll remain inconvenient for now. Messy and, quite frankly, a nightmare. But when you trace circles over his shoulder and whisper that he’s the sweetest man you know, when you laugh softly against his mouth after he tells you not to push your luck, when your hand finds his beneath the blanket and he squeezes without thinking, he decides that maybe being terrible at feeling doesn’t mean he can’t learn how to feel.

After all, if you’re the one teaching him, he might just survive it.

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tags: @saccharinefool @bunbun6casp @hoebuns @levkuna @strangeeaglepost @how-interesting-wow @d1leviglazer @y44washere4somereason @ddilfs4life @nickibunny23 @slaytherinthoughts @levishart @gloomyveil @levislolita @nerdskillz @angierb05 @elegantmakercoffee @444anya @miaszt @vmxz6 @daisyy-lev @naxymoon @caliope13 @wh0r3f0rchoso @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @starfallenlevi @altpsyche @tea-rae

divider by: angelciide

You huddle on the worn plaid couch in the cabin’s living room, knees drawn up beneath you. The whole place smells like damp pine from the woods outside and the acrid tang of cheap alcohol burning your nostrils. Though the fire snaps and spits in the hearth, throwing orange light across the walls, it barely does anything to fight the cold that leaks through the old window frames.

It’s the final night of the group trip—Erwin’s grand idea, naturally, because apparently nothing says team bonding after a miserable work week like cramming everyone into a cabin in the middle of nowhere with questionable plumbing, too much alcohol, and Levi Ackerman. Levi, who is currently the primary source of the knot in your stomach. Levi, with his permanent scowl and tongue sharp enough to fillet someone alive before breakfast. 

You put up with him because everyone else loves him, or at least claims to, but your patience with him has always been thin. Hange insists he’s just “misunderstood,” Petra calls him “harmlessly grumpy,” and Erwin gives you that weary, knowing look every time you and Levi end up snapping at each other like two feral animals. But you know better. Every comment he throws your way feels personal, like he’s dissecting your every flaw.

Two days ago, when everyone had first piled out of the cars, Levi had taken one look at the muddy footprints you tracked across the porch and said, loud enough for you to hear, “Great. Took five minutes for the place to turn into a pigsty.”

You’d turned on him instantly, your bag slung over your shoulder, and said, “Maybe if you weren’t such a neat freak, you’d unclench your ass long enough to enjoy a vacation.”

Erwin had clapped a hand on Levi’s shoulder, steering him away with a diplomatic smile. Miche had just stared as usual while Hange laughed so hard they nearly dropped their suitcase. Petra had given you a sympathetic pat on the back. 

Everyone knows about the tension between you and Levi by now. It’s not even subtle. It’s an open secret, a running joke, a little spark that Hange claims makes group events “more interesting.” You’ve told them they should seek help multiple times.

Now, the men have migrated out back to the fire pit. Erwin is grilling burgers, Miche is drinking a beer, and Levi is probably critiquing the alignment of the logs or something as stupid as that. Meanwhile, you, Hange, and Petra have taken over the living room for girl time.

On the coffee table sits the punishment lineup for Drink or Dare: grain alcohol for you, absinthe for Hange, and ouzo for Petra. The rules are simple. Take the dare, or take a drink of whatever awful bottle has been assigned to you. It was Petra’s genius idea to choose drinks each of you personally hates, which means the dares have become progressively unhinged. 

So far, you’ve eaten a raw onion slice on Hange’s dare. They streaked through the thankfully empty kitchen. Petra had confessed, in horrifying detail, her most embarrassing hookup story involving a clown costume. Against all odds, the bottles remain mostly full.

“Okay, my turn!” Hange announces, practically bouncing in the armchair, their glasses sliding down the bridge of their nose. They’re already tipsy from an earlier forfeit, having chosen to drink rather than send their boss a dick pic—which, frankly, is the first wise decision they’ve made all weekend. “Petra. Call your ex and demand that he moan your name. Loudly.”

You choke on your water so hard it burns your nose. Petra’s face flushes beet red, but to her credit, she snatches up her phone with grim determination. “Fine,” she says. “But if he blocks me, you’re buying drinks on the next trip.”

Next trip. You silently pray Levi won’t be invited. 

The ringtone rills the room on speaker. When Oluo answers, sounding cautious already, Petra launches in before he can even say hello properly. “Hey, Oluo, I need you to moan my name right now. Make it good!”

There’s a stunned pause, then a sputtered, “What the fuck, Petra?” The line goes dead. You and Hange absolutely lose it. You fold forward, laughing so hard your stomach hurts, while Hange makes a strangled noise somewhere between a cackle and a death rattle. Petra, mortified, throws her phone onto the couch and reaches for the ouzo bottle. She takes a shot and immediately coughs.

“Why did you drink?” you wheeze, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes. “You did the dare.”

“I needed one after doing that,” Petra shudders.

“Fair,” Hange says, still giggling.

“Alright,” you say, leaning back, cheeks aching from laughter. “Your turn, Petra.”

Petra recovers, eyes still watering, and then turns toward you with a look so wicked that your smile falters before she even opens her mouth. “You. I’m coming for you.”

Your stomach flips. She’s got that look—the one that says she’s about to escalate. “Lay it on me.”

She points at you with one devilish finger. “Go outside into the woods behind the cabin, find a flower—any flower—and bring it back to Levi. No explanation. Just hand it over and walk away.”

The room goes silent, save for the crackle of the fire. Your heart stutters. “Levi?” you repeat, staring at her. Petra smiles innocently.

Of all people, Levi. Levi, who once told you your coffee breath qualified as a biohazard after you leaned too close to argue with him. Levi, who treats every interaction with you like an endurance test handed down by a cruel god. Levi, who will absolutely look at a random flower in your hand and somehow turn it into a federal crime.

Heat creeps up your neck, equal parts embarrassment and irritation. Why him? Why not Erwin, who would accept it politely and probably say something poetic? Why not Miche, who would sniff if and move on? This is absolutely sabotage, but the alternative is grain alcohol, and the thought alone makes your throat close.

You glare at Petra. “Fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the couch. As you slip on your shoes, you add, “But if he kills me, I’m haunting your ass first.” You flip them both off on your way to the back door.

The hinges creak as you slip outside, and the cold night air smacks you full in the face. The backyard fire pit glows amber, silohuetting the guys: Erwin standing over the grill, Miche sitting with his beer while staring into the flames, and Levi lounging in a chair with a mug of tea cradled in one hand.

You veer left before anyone can call out, keeping close enough to the cabin that you can still see the light from the windows. Moonlight filters through the canopy, turning the forest floor silver. Twigs snap beneath your sneakers with every step, obnoxiously loud in the quiet. 

Stupid dare. Stupid Petra. Stupid Levi and his stupid face and his stupid ability to make your heart feel weird for reasons that are obviously anger and nothing else.

The air grows damp, alive with cricket chirps and the distant hoot of an owl. Your skin prickles. What if you get lost? What if you run into a bear? You tell yourself you’re being ridiculous. You’re a grown adult. You can walk twenty feet into the woods without turning into the first victim in a horror movie. Probably. You push deeper, the flashlight from your phone cutting a beam through ferns and underbrush. Your friends are probably snickering inside.

Then, you spot a cluster of wildflowers, delicate white petals glowing ethereally. You kneel and pluck one. It’s perfect. As you lift it, a bead of amber sap oozes from the break, sticky and glistening like dew. Great, it’s messy. Levi’s going to love that. You wipe it halfheartedly on your jeans, but it clings, tacky against your fingers.

Heart hammering, you trek back, the flower clutched in your hand. The cabin lights beckon you back. You skirt the fire pit’s edge, avoiding the gravel path where the guys sit. Levi’s profile is stark in the firelight. Erwin laughs at something Miche says. Your stomach twists. Just do it. hand it over. But doubt floods you: He’ll think I’m insane. Or flirting. God, no. Or worse, he’ll realize it was a dare and mock me forever.

You step into the firelight. “Levi.”

Three heads snap toward you. Miche’s nostrils flare subtly—he’s got that weird sniffing thing—and Erwin’s blue eyes widen in polite surprise. But Levi… Levi freezes, mug halfway to his lips. His gaze locks on you. Suspicion etches his features: narrowed eyes, slight tilt of his head, mouth pressing into a thin line. 

You thrust the flower forward, the sap gleaming. No explanation. No apology. No context. Just you standing there like an idiot, arm extended, cheeks burning. Your pulse thunders in your ears. 

Take it, you bastard. Don’t make this weird.

Erwin clears his throat, glancing between you. Miche shifts, arms crossing over his chest, and you catch the faintest suggestion of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Levi stares a second longer. You don’t know what his deal is. He doesn’t even have to say anything. He just needs to take the damn thing. 

Then, his fingers brush yours as he plucks the flower from your hand. He turns his slowly between his fingers, the white petals catching the firelight, the amber sap shining at the stem. For a second, you wait for the insult. The dry little remark he always seems to have prepared. The inevitable, what the hell is this? It never comes. He says nothing. He just looks back up at you with an intensity that makes your heart stumble. You can’t stand it.

You spin on your heel, fleeing before he can speak, your heart slamming against your ribs. What was that look? Did you imagine the tension? No, he’s probably just plotting revenge. Gravel crunches underfoot as you burst through the back door, slamming it harder than intended. Hange and Petra are peeking from around the corner like spies, faces lit by their phone screens—of course they’re recording. 

“Oh my god!” Hange whisper-shrieks, yanking you into the living room. “He took it! Without a word! Levi Ackerman accepted a mystery flower!”

Petra collapses onto the couch, clutching her sides. “Your face! Why did that look so romantic?”

“Romantic?” you say, eyeing your alcohol bottle. You definitely need a drink after that. But the confusion stops you. Why didn’t he snap? Why didn’t he make some little cutting comment and flick the flower into the fire? The fire inside pops mockingly, and from outside, muffled voices drift: Erwin’s chuckle, Miche’s rumble, Levi’s low murmur—too quiet to catch. 

Hange pours celebratory shots—water, mercifully. “Your turn to dare now. But spill—did he smell it? Crush it? Fall madly in love? What?”

You flop down, forcing a laugh to drown the unease. “Nothing. He just took it like a weirdo.”

Hours blur after the game. The living room devolves into a haze of laughter. Petra passes out first on the couch, her assigned bottle clutched to her chest like a teddy bear. Hange drags you to the shared bedroom upstairs, a cramped space with twin beds. Both of you giggle too loudly, whisper-shouting at each other to be quiet. Hange drops into one bed and is asleep almost instantly, sprawled on their stomach with one arm hanging off the mattress.

The cabin quiets. The guys’ voices fade from the backyard, and doors creak shut. You strip to a tank top and shorts and slide under the quilt. You stare at the slanted ceiling. Moonlight pours in through the thin curtains. Exhaustion threatens to tug at you, but sleep evades, your body too restless. Your skin feels too warm under the covers. You shift onto your side, then onto your back again, then kick one foot out from under the blanket, irritated by the sudden heat gathering under your skin.

At first, you blame the alcohol. But you didn’t have that much. Then it creeps in: a low throb between your thighs. You shift, pressing your legs together, but it flares hotter. What the hell? Your nipples harden against the tank top. Heat pools in your core, slickness gathering. You turn your head and squint at the clock. It’s 2:17 a.m. Maybe it’s just stress from the game. Or… Levi’s touch? No, that’s insane.

The memory of his fingers on yours sparks unwelcome imagery—his eyes, his shirt clinging to his muscles. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing it away, but your clit throbs, demanding attention. Slick heat gathers until you feel trapped inside your own skin. You know this isn’t normal, but you have to get a grip. Hange snorts in their sleep. The sound should make you laugh. Instead, the room feels stifling, the walls closing in.

You can’t take it. Slipping from bed, your bare feet hit the cold floorboards. The hallway is dark and endless, lit only by a light from the main floor. Your heart races. You’ll just get some water and fresh air. Then it’ll pass. 

You creep downstairs, every creak of the stairs amplified. Petra is still in the living room on the couch. The kitchen is dark, the fridge humming. You fill a glass with icy water but it does nothing to quell the fire raging inside. The heat still rushes through you, making your hand tighten around the glass until your knuckles ache. Your body betrays you with every breath.

A hand suddenly clamps your wirst, yanking you sideways. You don’t even have time to scream. You gasp, glass shattering on the floor in a spray of shards. Panic surges as you’re dragged, stumbling, into the spare bedroom off the kitchen. The door slams shut and you’re shoved against the wall, the wood biting your back.

Levi looms, his breath ragged and eyes wild in the sliver of moonlight that pours in through the window. His hair is disheveled, his shirt untucked, his pants… oh dear god. There’s a strain against his sweats, unmistakable.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” he growls, pinning your shoulders. 

You blink, confusion crashing against fear. “What—get off! I didn’t do anything!” you whisper-shout, hands shoving at his chest. Arousal spikes tratiorously at the contact, your core clenching. What the hell has gotten into you?

His eyes narrow, face inches from yours. Fury is etched in every line. “Don’t play dumb. You drugged me. What was it?”

Drugged? The word yanks you back. “You’re crazy! I didn’t do shit. Let go!”

He doesn’t budge, his grip tightening just enough to terrify you. “My dick has been hard for the past hour no matter how many times I jerk myself off. What kind of aphrodisiac did you drug me with? Did you give me a pill? Slip it in my tea?” 

His voice drops to a hiss, his cheeks flushed—not just anger, you realize. Desperation. The outline in his pants twitches, and your own body responds, wetness soaking through. Shock ripples through you. Images flood—Levi’s hand down his pants, letting out frustrated grunts. Your thighs rub together. 

Then the pieces slowly start fitting together. 

“It’s the flower,” you blurt.

He stares, incredulous, like you’ve slapped him. “Very funny. Now tell me what you drugged me with before I report your psychotic ass.”

“No, listen!” You twist against him, but it only presses your breasts to his chest, your nipples scraping deliciously. You shake your head internally. You need to focus. “It’s the only thing we both touched. You took it from me. The sap got on your fingers too. Our friends wouldn’t drug us, not even for a prank.”

You’re not sure if you even believe yourself, but Levi’s expression shifts and his breath hitches. His eyes flick to your lips, then down your body—tank riding up, shorts clinging to your thighs that rub together. His eyes widen ever so slightly. He must realize that you’re going through the exact same thing. He releases your shoulders, raking a hand through his hair.

“Great. A fucking flower got me hard,” he spits.

You meet his gaze. “Yeah, well, a fucking flower got me wet. We’re even.”

Silence lengthens between you. His eyes darken, pupils blown, scanning your face, your heaving chest, then lower. His confusion mirrors your own. This can’t be real. A flower that releases an aphrodisiac? But the pull is undeniable.

Heat crackles between you, the air thickening and charged like a storm about to break. Slowly, your bodies lean in like magnets, the fight dissolving into shared desperation. He’s too close. He smells so good. He’s still hard against your thigh.

You don’t know who moves first. Your lips crash. You moan into it, hands grabbing his shirt, pulling him close. He groans, a low sound in his throat, his tongue invading and claiming yours. It’s messy and frantic. Teeth nip your lower lip. His hips grind his rigid length against your core. You break for air, foreheads pressed, both of you panting.

“Fuck,” he rasps, hand sliding to your hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. “This… we can fuck it out. Get rid of it. Then we’re done.”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding, even though your mind is reeling. Are you really about to have sex with Levi? But the ache demands it. All logic is lost. “Just this once.”

Levi’s gaze sears into you, stripping you bare before a single thread hits the floor. Your back hits the mattress with a muffled thud as he throws you down. Your entire body is buzzing, waiting for any sort of contact, your nerves screaming for more. He cages you. Forearms brace on either side of your head, trapping you between his body and the bed. The heat radiating off him is suffocating.

Then his mouth descends. It isn’t a kiss so much as a collision—hunger made physical. Your lips part under the assault, yielding to the invasive slide of his tongue. Teeth knock together. Saliva slicks your chin. You taste the black tea on his tongue as you arch up, hands clawing at the muscle in his shoulders. He answers with his hips, grinding down. The thick ridge of his erection drags against your soaked core through the thin fabric. The pressure drags a whimper from you, swallowed by his mouth. Your clit pulses with each thrust of his hips.

The kiss deepens into passionate chaos. His growl vibrates against your lips. Your nails rake his back under his shirt. He breaks away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His teeth graze your pulse point, sucking hard enough to bruise. You gasp, head falling back against the pillow.

Sensation detonates across your skin, but the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins turns every spark into an inferno. Your flesh feels raw, hypersensitive to every touch. Every lick sends jolts straight to your core. His hands roam, shoving your tank top up to bunch under your arms. The sudden kiss of cold air stiffens your nipples, and then his mouth is there, closing over one breast.

His tongue swirls before sucking hard. You cry out, back arching off the bed, fingers twisting in his hair. The slight pain lights a fire in your abdomen. He switches sides, teeth nipping, drawing another moan—a moan that’s too loud for the paper-thin walls. Levi’s hand flies up, clamping over your mouth mid-gasp. His eyes lock on yours, dark and commanding.

“Stay quiet if you want my cock in you,” he warns, thumb pressing your lower lip. 

How the hell are you supposed to stay quiet? Still, you nod frantically, eyes wide, biting his palm to stifle the next inevitable sound. He smirks and slides his free hand down your body, shoving your shorts aside. Fingers find your folds, slick and swollen with need. He groans against your skin at the copious wetness that coats his hand. Two fingers plunge in, curling ruthlessly. His thumb circles your clit. You whimper into the cage of his hand, hips jerking, walls clenching around him. He pumps steadily, scissoring and stretching you to prepare you. His hawkish gaze never leaves your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every grimace of need. 

Your orgasm builds like a rising tide, hovering just out of reach, but every time you teeter on the edge, he eases back, denying you. Tears prick your eyes. You nod again, muffled pleas vibrating against his palm. The room spins in lust’s haze.

Finally, he withdraws, both of you shedding your clothes in a frenzy. Shirts are yanked off, shorts are kicked away, his sweats hit the floor. His cock is freed, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s thick, heavy, veins tracing the rigid length, the head flushed dark and weeping. You know, with a certainty that settles in your gut, that he’s going to ruin you.

He hauls you toward the bed’s center, palms gripping your hips, flipping you onto your stomach with a suddenness that knocks the breath from your lungs. Face down, knees sinking into the mattress, you push up slightly on your forearms, ass lifted in involuntary offering. The position exposes everything, rendering you utterly vulnerable to the weight of his gaze and the hunger you can feel radiating off him.

His weight crashes down atop you, a heavy, furnace-hot blanket of muscle. His knees force yours wider, spreading you until the air ghosts against your drenched entrance. The blunt head of his cock prods your slit, dragging through your arousal in a teasing slide that has you whining into the bedding, hips twitching back.

Then he drives forward. One smooth thrust buries him to the hilt, splitting you open on his length with a stretch that’s almost agonizing. You scream, but the sound dies against the pillow as you bury your face in the fabric, teeth sinking into cotton. He fills you impossibly, the sheer girth of him forcing your walls to accommodate. Levi stills, chest heaving, his breath scalding the shell of your ear. You feel the tremor in his thighs. 

Then he moves. He pulls back and snaps forward, flesh slapping against flesh, driving the air from your lungs. He sets a brutal rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that jolt you forward on the mattress. Every ram of his hips is angled perfectly to strike that tender, swollen spot inside you. The bed shakes, the headboard thumping softly. You bite the pillow until your jaw aches, trying to swallow the sounds, but a moan rips free.

His hand clamps your mouth again, sealing the sound inside. “Shut the fuck up,” he warns, his hips slamming harder in punishment. You obey, breaths ragged through your nose. He fucks you without mercy. Sweat slicks the seal where your bodies slam together. His chest is plastered against your back, trapping you completely beneath him.

Wet kisses pepper your neck, tongue tracing your vein before sucking marks into the skin. His groans build. To muffle them, he bites your shoulder. The pain melts into ecstasy. You clench around him, chasing the peak he denied earlier, but he controls it, pace faltering as his own end nears.

“Fuck—where do you want it?” he rasps, thrusts erratic.

“In me,” you beg, words muffled against his hand.

He snarls, burying deep one last time, grinding against your womb. His release floods you, hot ropes painting your walls. Levi shudders atop you, biting harder to silence his moan. You teeter on the edge, clenching to milk him, but he slips out too soon. Cum trickles down onto the bed.

He rolls off, chest heaving, but he’s still hard. His cock glistens in the moodnight, twitching back to life. “Shit,” he curses, glaring at the ceiling. “That damn flower.”

Panting, you prop yourself up on your elbows. You roll onto your back and look at him. “Wow, so you’re not even going to get me off?”

Levi’s eyes snap to yours, narrowing at your quip. A spark of challenge ignites in the storm grey. He shoves your legs wide and he settles between your thighs, breath ghosting your slick folds. Out of all the ways you expected him to get you off, you thought this would be the last. For a clean freak like him, you thought he’d despise giving. Clearly, you were wrong about him. In more ways than one.

His tongue comes hot and flat against your core. He licks a slow stripe up your center, gathering your mixed release. You jolt, hands fisting the sheets, a whine escaping your throat before you can swallow it. He groans into you, vibrations shuddering through your core. He seals his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking with precision. His fingers part you, delving in to curl against your g-spot, pumping in time with his tongue’s assault.

“Levi—” you moan, too loud. His hand covers your mouth again, eyes flashing warning above your mound.

“Quiet,” he hisses, muffled by your skin, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue lashes harder, fingers curling relentlessly. Your moans are swallowed by his palm. The stars behind your eyelids deotnate into surpernovas. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, walls spasmsing violently around his thrusting digits. Your release floods his mouth. You cry out into his hand. He laps you through it greedily until you slump, trembling.

He rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock stands rigid against his abdomen, angry and red, twitching with renewed demand. “I’m not done,” he says, positioning over you. 

He hooks his legs over the crooks of his elbows and folds you open—wider, wider still—until your knees press toward your shoulders and you feel the stretch of your hips, the total exposure of your core to his gaze. The position renders you helpless, a vessel for his use. The swollen head of his cock nudges your slit, dragging through the mess of your combined arousal, then he thrusts home, burying himself to the root. 

You gasp, a desperate sound, arms flying up to wrap tight around his neck, anchoring yourself as he splits you open on his length. But the moans spill free despite your best efforts—volume rising with each savage snap of his hips. 

Levi snatches the pillow from beside your head and slams it down over your face. Darkness engulfs you instantly, the scent of old cotton and sweat filling your nostrils. His voice filters through the barrier: “Tap my arm twice if you can’t breathe.”

You nod frantically under the fabric. You have no need to tap. He fucks you hard, setting a punishing pace. The sound of his skin hitting yours echoes softly. The mattress springs scream. When the bedframe hits the wall too hard, he curses under his breath and slows to deep, grinding rolls that press his pelvis flush against your thighs. They still hit every sweet spot inside you. Sweat drips from him onto your stomach.

Pleasure coils again despite the recent peak. He shifts the pillow aside abruptly, tossing it across the room. The air hits your flushed face. His mouth claims yours with feverish hunger—lips bruising, tongue plunging to swallow the moans you can no longer contain. The kiss is salvation. You taste yourself on him. Hands roam—yours in his hair, tugging; his gripping your thigh, angling deeper until he’s grinding against your cervix.

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles to match the rhythm of his hips. You break the kiss to gasp, but he chases your mouth, refusing you air. Pressure builds, inexorable. Your walls flutter, your release barreling forward with terrifying speed.

“Levi—gonna—” The words die in your mouth as you cum first, lightning spiking your nerves while your vision whites out. Your nails dig crescents into his back. 

Your clenching triggers him. He buries deep, groaning into the kiss, hot jets of cum pulsing inside you, filling your womb again. Your bodies lock together, shuddering through the aftermath, muscles spasming in unison. He collapses half-atop you, forehead to your shoulder.

And yet, he doesn’t soften. His cock twitches, still hard, trapped in your fluttering heat. Levi lifts his head, frustration etching his features. “Fuck—this thing won’t quit.” He pulls back slightly, staring down at where you’re joined, at the sight of his length disappearing into your cum-slick, swollen folds.

Panting, you meet his gaze. “Stay inside. Just ride it out.”

Levi pauses. He looks somewhat skepitcal, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, but he sighs and shifts. “On your side,” he commands, laced with fatigue.

You comply, rolling onto your side. Levi mirrors you, molding behind you with his chest to your back and his thighs slotting against yours. One strong arm snakes under your head like a pillow, and the other hooks your top leg over his hip, opening you. He lines himself up and slides back in with a slow push. Inch by inch, he sinks all the way in, reclaiming the territory he never truly vacated, until his pubic bone is pressed flush to your ass.

You reach back instinctively, fingers gripping the jut of his hip. Levi envelops you fully, wrapping both arms around your torso, one hand splaying possessively over your stomach, the other cupping your breast. He groans low, the sound rumbling through your joined bodies. He twitches inside you, like a heartbeat against your walls. His lips find your neck, pressing soft kisses along the fresh bruises.

Neither of you moves. You stay connected, breathing synced in the quiet. The fullness is exquisite torture, his thickness stretching you as your cum-slick walls flutter around him, milking him without motion. Minutes pass and the tension simmers, a banked fire waiting only for the breath that will ignite it again.

“Why do you always act like I shit on your parade?” you murmur, turning your head slightly against his bicep.

Levi huffs, breath hot on your ear, hips shifting minutely—enough to cause your stomach to flip. “Me? You’re the one with the attitude, snapping like everything I say is an insult.”

You snort softly, clenching around him involuntarily; he hisses. “You nitpick everything. Calling me messy like you’re perfect, Mr. Disinfectant.”

His grip tightens on your breast, thumb circling the nipple lazily. “You are messy. Doesn’t mean I think I’m perfect. But…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “Fuck it. You’re hot as hell. You drive me insane.”

Heat floods your cheeks. You can’t exactly say that you don’t feel the same way. You just never wanted to admit it—to anyone else, or even yourself. “Well… I think you’re attractive too. Stupidly. I just didn’t want to admit it, so I pushed back.”

His chuckle vibrates into you. “Mutual torture, then.” Fueled, he stirs, hips drawing back an inch then pressing forward in a slow, deep thrust. 

“Levi,” you moan, arching back.

He holds you tigher, spooning your trembling body. His body envelops you completely like a protective cocoon. “Stay quiet,” he murmurs against your hair, thrusting again. It’s a slow, grinding slide that buries him to the hilt, stirring your depths. 

There’s no frenzy now, no desperation—only a deep, rocking connection that grinds his pelvis against your ass with each forward press. His cock drags against your swollen walls, the ridge of his head stroking that aching spot inside you. The pace builds languidly, a rising tide rather than a crashing wave, each roll of his hips designed to wind you tighter rather than break you apart.

One hand slides down your stomach, calloused fingers dipping through the slick mess of your combined arousal to find your clit. He rubs gentle circles, syncing the pressure perfectly with his thrusts—up and in, press and roll. The other hand rises to knead your breast, fingers pinching and rolling the nipple until it aches. 

The triple assault overwhelms you. Your clit throbs under his fingertips, his cock strokes a sensitive spot inside you, and the sharp tugs at your nipple thread a wire of sensation directly to your core. Moans build, muffled against his arm. You bite your lip, but they escape—his name, whimpers, pleads. The bed, mercifully, stays silent. His mouth trails hot, open kisses along the curve of your shoulder.

Your climax creeps in, inevitable. The feeling in your stomach spreads like liquid fire. “Levi—close,” you gasp, hand clutching his veiny forearm, nails digging into the taut muscle.

“Cum,” he orders, voice strained to breaking, the single word a command against your ear. His thrusts deepen, fingers pressing harder. It breaks you open, waves crashing against you as your pussy clamps around him, your wetness soaking his hand and cock. You tremble in his arms, crying his name into the pillow.

Your release milks him and triggers the flood of his own climax. Levi sinks in all the way, groaning your name against your neck as his essence erupts for the third time, painting you full. He pulses endlessly, hips stuttering in shallow jerks as he empties everything left inside him. Warmth overflows you, his seed trickling despite his plug. 

Exhaustion claims you both. Your limbs feel heavy, your breathing slows, and neither of you move. You’re too spent to disentangle and return to separate beds. It’s risky, but you both decide without even speaking it aloud that you’ll stay like this. His arms remain around you. His heartbeat thuds against your back. Your eyelids droop.

The flower’s fire turned you from enemies to lovers, if only for the night.

.

Sunlight pierces the spare room’s window, a golden blade slicing through the dust. It rouses you from your sleep. Your body aches, a delicious soreness. Your thighs are sticky, and your core is tender from Levi’s relentless claiming. He’s still behind you, arms lax but draped possessively. His morning wood twitches half-hard inside. You hope it actually is just morning wood and not the flower. 

You shift and he stirs, his eyes cracking open. His cock slips free with a wet sound, cum trickling anew. Levi tenses, rolling away. No words. The vulnerability from your confessions has evaporated, replaced by awkward silence. You both dress hastily. He cracks the door open first, and you follow.

Everyone is staring at you. Not subtly, either.

Erwin is at the counter, mug suspended halfway to his mouth, his expression neutral in a way that somehow makes it worse. Miche stares at you like he already knows what went down. Petra blushes furiously over her cereal, and of course, Hange is grinning like a maniac, chin propped on one hand, eyes bright with the knowledge that they’ve been handed blackmail material gift-wrapped by the gods.

Levisteps in behind you and stops. You freeze, heat crawling up your neck. You eye the ground where the broken glass should be. It’s swept up into a broom pan. Clear evidence. Recovered evidence. The worst kind. No one speaks. Tension crackles, and eyes dart between you two like witnesses to a crime.

Levi veers upstairs without a glance, shutting the door behind him. You bolt after him, cheeks burning, slamming your bedroom door. You consider simply staying here forever. Then you peel yourself away from the door and start stripping. Your tank top hits the floor, then your shorts follow. You grab a towel and turn toward the mirror, only to stop dead.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper. 

Hickeys are covering your throat and collarbone. Bite marks, too, faint but unmisktable, trail along places you absolutely cannot explain away with mosquitoes. A shower calls to you. Hot water. Soap. Steam. The chance to scrub away at least the sweat, if not the memory of every humiliating sound you apparently made in a cabin full of your friends.

You wrap the towel around you and take one step toward the bathroom. Then footsteps pound down the hallway, and the bedroom door bursts open. Hange barrels in.

“Hey, so by the way,” they start, flopping on their bed, “did you know that flower you picked up yesterday—the female ones anyway—have an aphrodisiac sap? It’s loaded with pheromones. Apparently it makes woodland critters go absolutely feral. Little sex rabbits everywhere. Nature is beautfiful.”

You whirl on them. “You couldn’t have told me before—”

“Before you fucked Levi’s brains out at 3 in the morning? Yeah, we all heard. Thanks for waking everyone up, dude! ‘Levi, oh god, Levi’—classic.”

Mortification washes over you, drowning you. Your face flames and you dive under your blankets, burrowing like a child. The sheets muffle your groan. Hange’s laughter erupts. They poke your foot. 

“Spill. Was he any good?”

“Out!” you yelp, kicking blindly at them through the covers.

You're not looking forward to the trip back home.

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tags: @levkuna @strangeeaglepost @how-interesting-wow @d1leviglazer @y44washere4somereason @nickibunny23 @slaytherinthoughts @levishart @gloomyveil @levislolita @angierb05 @elegantmakercoffee @444anya @miaszt @vmxz6 @daisyy-lev @naxymoon @caliope13 @wh0r3f0rchoso @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @starfallenlevi @altpsyche @ssomethingalieen @starryscara @starlighttitan @leviholics

divider by: strangergraphics

“Levi,” you say quietly. “Do you remember when you said you didn’t want to tell me anything because you didn’t think I’d believe it?”

He doesn’t say anything, but the glance he gives you resembles recognition enough that you continue.

“That’s the only reason I haven’t said anything to you yet. It’s… unbelievable even for me. I don’t want you to think that I’ve kept something out of malicious intent or something.”

He considers your words for a moment. “I guess we’ll see.”

Every step closer to your apartment makes your chest grow tighter, until you’re standing in front of your door and the weight of your key in the lock feels as heavy as the dread in your stomach.

Luna, (poor unassuming Luna), greets you both at the door, but you move around her without stopping to say hello.

You hesitate for a moment once you’re in the living room, unsure of where to begin. You could just sit him down and start the show, but would he even understand what he was watching?

“Would you like some tea?” you ask, spinning around to look at him.

Levi stares back at you with his arms crossed, still hovering like a hawk surveying prey in the entryway. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Shit, okay. No stalling to collect your thoughts then.

You wring your hands for a moment, still deciding before finally pointing to the sofa.

“Here, why don’t you sit down.”

He doesn’t move.

“Okay.” You begin to pace back and forth, anxiety bubbling up in the strained silence. Finally, you come out with it. “Have you ever heard of Attack on Titan?”

From a quick glance, you see Levi’s brows crease. He shakes his head. “No.”

“It’s a show,” you tell him before remembering he likely doesn’t know what that means. “You know, like, uh… a play.”

He nods, albeit slowly, in an effort to show that he’s following along.

“Attack on Titan is like that,” you continue. “Someone came up with a story and they animated it. They drew the people and the places and everything that happens to them and it was so popular that they turned it into a television show.”

His head tilts slightly. “What’s a television show?”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn and point to the appliance next to you. “That is a television. I don’t know everything about how it works, but the short version is that things like shows and movies are made and recorded and can be watched on this device.”

It’s a quick explanation, and it’s clear from the look on Levi’s face that he doesn’t quite understand but he chooses to save questions about it for later.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

You turn to look at him, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “When I found you, you were dressed exactly like one of the characters from the show I’m talking about.”

You see the moment that your words register. For a long moment, Levi just stares. Then he supplies the rest of your thought. The part that feels too silly to say out loud.

“So, you think I am that character?”

You stare at him for a moment, feeling the weight of that frankly insane admission settle in the room and begin to pace again. “I mean, no—because that’s impossible, right? But then his name is Levi and he looks and acts just like you and you’re telling me you’re from the year 854 and that’s around the time the show is set and I just…”

You trail off and throw your hands up in defeat, unable to find the words for an adequate way to end your train of thought. When you turn to look at Levi again, you expect him to laugh. To call you an idiot. Something that might put an end to your silly delusion, but instead he’s calm. In fact, he looks curious. 

Seemingly more at ease, his arms drop to his sides. “You said it’s set in the year 854?”

Not enjoying the direction his question seems to be going, you nod. “Something like that.”

“Can you show me?”

It takes a moment to get set up. Sorting through applications on your television, searching through shows.

Finally, you pull it up and quickly scroll to the first episode.

“Here, sit down.” You sit on the sofa and pat the cushion next to you, settling in a bit further. “Each episode is about 25 minutes long.”

At first, he looks reluctant to move but when the show begins, his expression shifts. You’re reminded of how he looked at the observation tower.

Not taking his eyes off of the screen, he sits down next to you.

He’s like a statue as the story unfolds. First, Eren and Mikasa appear, then the Scouts. Then Armin and the Colossal. You want to ask him what he’s thinking but he’s too absorbed, so you focus on petting Luna instead.

It isn’t until the last scene ends and the closing song begins that you dare to look over. 

Levi still hasn’t looked away, but can see the gears turning behind his eyes. After several long seconds, he finally speaks.

“I really thought saying I’m not from this time was bad, but this…” he trails off, turning to look at you. “This is entertainment for you?”

“It’s not real,” you defend lightly. As you speak, Luna meows and leaps from your lap, leaving you with nothing to fidget with. “At least it’s not supposed to be, not here. It’s fantasy. Giant man-eating titans don’t exist in this world.”

Levi raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

You place a hand over your chest like a mock-swear. “One hundred percent.”

He glances back at the screen for a moment, deep in thought. “I guess that makes sense,” he finally says. “I didn’t see any walls when we were up in that tower earlier.”

“There aren’t any,” you confirm. “For the most part, people can travel freely all around the world.”

“And there aren’t any problems?”

You snort. “Oh, there are plenty of problems. Just maybe not ones that you’re used to.”

It grows quiet then, but the air feels like it's buzzing with all of the words that are being left unsaid. Questions simmer on the tip of your tongue. He hasn’t exactly denied that any of what he’s seen is true, and the anticipation is making something uneasy squirm in your stomach.

“So,” you start slowly, “what do you think?”

For a few tense seconds, the only sound is of the song playing as the episode closes out. Levi watches as the credits roll and the preview for the next episode appears. A deep, puzzled frown forms on his lips.

“I remember that day,” he finally says, nodding towards the screen. “The Survey Corps had just come back from a standard expedition. I wasn’t a captain yet, so I was ordered to stay behind in Trost.”

That uneasy feeling becomes a substantial, solid weight. 

“Hold on.” You fold your legs under yourself, feebly grasping a thread of doubt. “But that can’t be real, right? It’s just a show.”

“How would you like me to prove it?” he asks, gesturing again towards the television. “I don’t know what you already know about my life. I’m assuming you know some of it.”

You nod. “Bits and pieces, yeah.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but eventually he gets to his feet and goes to his things. His cape is neatly folded on top of the blade boxes of his ODM gear by the sofa. You see him look through it before he turns back around and hands you something.

“Here,” he says, outstretching his hand. “This is all I have.”

Whatever he drops into your palm is cold. When you open your hand, you find a silver chain with two rectangular pendants attached.

They’re dog tags, you realize. Both pendants bear the same inscription engraved into the metal: Levi Ackerman, Squad Captain of the Special Operations Squad, Scout Regiment.

Well, that’s certainly something you didn’t know existed. Carefully, you hold it up and the burnished metal glints in the dim lamplight. There’s no mistaking the handmade quality, each careful mark made from striking the metal in the forging process.

Holy shit.

“This is insane,” you finally say, more to yourself than anything.

Beside you, Levi’s lip curls. “I’m not convinced yet I haven’t just died and ended up… wherever this is.”

“Well, you don’t die.”

The words are out before you think about them, and of course Levi notices.

“I don’t die,” he slowly repeats.

You know what he’s asking by the look on his face: what happens? You think of everything that occurs after the first episode. Erwin, Annie, his squad, the rumbling, Hange, the battle at Fort Salta, Eren. 

Everything he does. What he sees. What he goes through. What they all go through.

You swallow. “The show has been over for almost a year,” you tell him softly. “The closest you get is the thunderspear explosion, but it doesn’t…” you trail off for a moment, recalling when you first met him on the metro. He’d said something about a flash when you asked what happened to him. Then, there’s the small cut just above his right eye… And he’s still able to see out of both eyes.

“Holy shit, wait.” You resettle in your seat, angling yourself more towards him, and grab a pillow to hold in your excitement. “What were you doing before you woke up here? Do you remember?”

Levi’s gaze drifts as he thinks. “I was in the forest—is Zeke Yeager in this?” he points to the television and you nod. “We had just learned that we’d been betrayed and he turned my entire squad into titans and transformed. I was taking him to have his power given to someone else.”

“But he set off a thunderspear.”

For a moment, Levi looks surprised when you finish off the thought but he eventually nods.

It’s safe to assume the flash of light that he saw was the explosion itself, but something must have happened in that split second. But how? And why?

You look over again and it dawns on you that you’ve inadvertently gone from being skeptical to believing him in the matter of a few short minutes. But then again, it was a theory that had been stuck in your mind since he first told you his name, even if you didn’t want to believe it.

“You’re doing it again.” Levi turns to look at you, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Staring.”

“It’s not every day you get to meet your favorite fictional character.”

“I’m your favorite?” Levi’s tone shifts slightly, somewhere between a mix of curious and somewhat apprehensive.

Shit. Did you really say that out loud?

“Yes,” you finally say, choosing to be honest. In an effort to make it feel less awkward, you toss the pillow you’re holding at him. “But if you get a big head about it though, I’m making you second favorite.”

Levi catches the pillow easily, then tucks it to his stomach, back to his usual dry self. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You spend most of the afternoon and bulk of the following morning watching the show with Levi.

It’s fascinating in a new way, you think, to watch him go back through this part of his life from a different perspective. You learn that most things are very accurate to his lived experience, but you hadn’t been expecting much to be different.

Eventually though, when you get to the end of season one, you pause the show.

“Want to take a break?” you ask, stretching your arms over your head. “I’ll make lunch. What do you want?”

Getting to his feet, Levi follows you into the kitchen. “Whatever you want,” he replies. “Do we have more tea?”

“Only two bags left. That’s coming out of your allowance, buddy.”

You see him freeze with a tea bag pinched between two of his fingers before he gently places it back into the box.

“I’m kidding, Levi,” you snort. “We can get more tea.”

You make something quick and easy from the items you bought the day before—grilled cheese sandwiches with soup—and Levi joins you at the table.

It’s odd at times, reminding yourself that you’re sitting across the table from Levi Ackerman. He’s real, flesh and blood and not some ultra-bizarre dream or weird hallucination. You’d consider that maybe you’re the one that needs to be checked for a head injury if Dr. Holloway hadn’t physically examined him. He’s really here and he’s in your apartment.

Feeling warm at the thought, you glance up to find Levi already looking at you and you divert your gaze to your sandwich.

“So.” You clear your throat. “Do you remember anything else about when you first got here?”

Levi chews silently for a moment. “Not really,” he says, thinking. “I woke up outside. There was no one around and I saw the sign for the train, so I got up and walked to it. I ran into you a few minutes later.”

You take a bite of your grilled cheese and look out the window, watching idly as people go about their days on the sidewalk below.

There had to be something that transported him here, but what? And was it even available here in real life or something only accessible from his universe? Would he ever be able to get back? He had to, right? His part in the story doesn’t end with the explosion. He doesn’t just disappear.

“Maybe we should keep watching once we finish eating,” you suggest. “I can’t think of anything here that would have been able to pull you out of your universe, but maybe we can find clues in the show. There’s got to be something.”

And once Levi finishes the last of his sandwich, he agrees.

Wednesday morning arrives, and you check your watch as the kettle begins to emit a low rumble. Fifteen minutes before you have to leave for work, so there’s time to run through the basics again.

You point to the fridge and Levi watches from his spot against the counter. “Remember, there are some leftovers in there for you when you get hungry. Take whatever you feel like having. Everything should be okay to eat cold, but if you want…” you pause for a moment, taking a side step to the other side of the kitchen and place your hand on the microwave. “This will heat your food. Do you remember how to use it?”

Levi scoffs, his arms now folded across his chest. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said you were,” you grin. “But if it’s between going over something you already know and setting my entire apartment block up in flames, I'm going to repeat myself a little.”

Unimpressed, he gestures with a nod of his head. “I just put in whatever I need warmed and press however long it takes.”

“Yes,” you say. “But don’t put anything made of metal or wood inside. Glass and ceramic are okay. Just bowls, plates, or cups.”

He nods.

Behind you, the kettle clicks.

“Okay,” you say, gesturing vaguely before walking toward the living room. “I’ll leave you to it then. I won’t be back until after midnight, so just try to entertain yourself. You remember how to use the television?”

“Yes.”

“And if something happens, just—”

“Go next door so the neighbor can call you. I know.”

Your worry is probably misplaced, but there are so many variables that could go wrong in the next thirteen hours that you can’t help it. It feels a bit like letting a well-meaning toddler loose without supervision—not that you would tell Levi that. Not to mention the lingering fear that you’ve been duped only to come home to all of your valuables missing.

You slip on your shoes by the door and Levi watches on. Finally, you can’t afford to stall anymore.

“I’ll try to be quiet when I get back in,” you say.

“It’s fine,” he replies from the couch. “I’ll probably be awake anyway.”

“You don’t have to wait up for me.”

“I’m not,” he assures you with a bland look. “I just don’t sleep much.”

Struggling with what else to say, you bend down and give Luna a quick pat at the door. “Okay. Bye then.”

“See you.”

Thankfully, your shift serves as a nice distraction when you get into the hospital. There’s always something going on, something that needs to be done, and a lot of brainwork required to do it all correctly. But still, sometimes, between tasks, your mind shifts and you wonder how Levi is doing. If he’s comfortable, if he’s bored, if your apartment will still be in one piece when you get back. You had spent most of the rest of your time off watching the show with him, trying to pinpoint anything that might be a clue, but so far nothing stood out to either of you.

You don’t receive any sort of phone call from your neighbor either, so you try to push the thoughts out of your mind and focus on work. And you manage it well enough until Allie sits down next to you at the nurse’s station eight hours in.

“What’s up?” she asks before nabbing a piece of popcorn from a small bag you’d grabbed from the vending machine down the hall. “Don’t look so sad. You’ve only got four more hours.”

“Huh?” You look away from the chart in front of you. “I’m fine.”

Chewing, she works on pulling her hair into a tight bun. “No, you’re not. You look like someone’s kicked your cat. What happened?”

You shake your head. There’s no point in hiding it from her. Allie always finds ways to work information out of you if she thinks you’re hiding something. “I’m just thinking about Levi.”

She blinks. “The guy from the other day?” she asks, suddenly more interested. “So, what happened?”

Oh, nothing, you think. He’s just actually Levi Ackerman and I’m helping him find a way back into the television. No luck yet though.

“He’s still staying with me.”

There could probably be a code blue announced and she wouldn’t get up from her chair now. You can see it in her expression. She wants to know everything.

“Look at you, living on the edge for once.” She smirks, then practically lights up with an idea. “Are you going to bring him this weekend?”

You shove another few bites of popcorn into your mouth. “Why would I do that?”

“So I can meet him. Duh.”

You point at your chest. “I barely know him.”

Not exactly the truth, but not a lie either. But unfortunately, Allie has never met a stranger. She will talk to him if she has a chance.

“Come on, you can bring a date,” she pouts. “And Jessie’s girlfriend had a last minute work trip come up, so there’s an extra seat.” She grins before adding, “And you’ll have a reason to leave early that doesn’t make anyone feel bad because I know you’re already planning some excuse.”

Sometimes you don’t think you give her enough credit for knowing you so well.

But still, inviting Levi?

You shake your head. “I don’t think he’d agree,” you say, thinking.

But he did say he owes you. And she is right. Showing up with someone would make you feel like less of a loser, and you could leave early.

“Worst he can say is no,” Allie shrugs before getting to her feet. Her break must be over. “Just let me know what he says so I can update the seating chart.”

The apartment is quiet when you get back home just before one in the morning.

Just like he’d said, Levi is awake and sitting on the sofa. Luna slowly uncurls herself from his lap and hops down, stretching on her way to greet you at the door.

“I see you two are finally getting along,” you chuckle.

Levi watches as you crouch to scratch between the cat’s ears. “She’s a persistent little brat.”

“Really wore you down, huh?”

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, but you notice on your way toward your room that he does nothing to stop her when she returns to his lap a moment later.

Once you’re back in your room, you quickly strip off your scrubs and change into a pair of comfortable joggers and a t-shirt. A shower would come later, but first you had to get a quick bite to eat.

Allie’s words resurface in your mind when you return to the living room and find Levi absently scratching behind Luna’s ears. You begin to wonder what he’d say as you round the corner into the kitchen in search of food.

There wasn’t a zero percent chance he’d say no, but you could say the same about him saying yes too. Did you want to put him through that anyway?

You find an open container of yogurt and pluck it from the fridge, intent on mixing it with whatever fruit you have on hand. Moving around the room gives you an idea into how Levi spent his time while you were away. There’s a bowl, a plate, and two utensils in the drying rack next to your sink, plus a mug. Luna’s food dish is also full. Not a chore you requested of him, but you suppose he’s seen you do it often enough that he just knows where everything is.

You smile to yourself and head into the living room, still mulling over the idea of asking him to attend the party with you.

The worst he could say is no, just like Allie said.

Only one way to find out.

You take a spot on the sofa next to him, glancing only briefly at the soccer game that’s playing on the television in order to muster up your courage.

“Hey, Levi.”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember when I said I had a party I have to go to this weekend?”

There’s a pause. “Yeah.”

“Would you want to go with me?”

“No.”

Well that was quick. “Will you go with me?”

“Why do I need to go?”

Because you don’t want to go alone. Because some awful, destructive part of you maybe likes the idea of your ex seeing you with someone else. Someone like Levi.

“I was just thinking…” you begin, swirling the berries into your yogurt absently. “You said you wanted a way to pay me back. I don’t really want to go alone, and I’m allowed to bring a date.”

“A date,” he repeats slowly, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.

“It’s not like a date date,” you’re quick to correct, immediately growing slightly hot under his scrutinizing stare. “These days it can just mean two people who are not romantically involved attending something together. As friends.”

“Why not call it that then?”

“Fewer words,” you shrug. “Okay, if that’s so important to you—will you go with me as my friend?”

He takes an infuriatingly long time to respond. But once you’re nearly on the verge of calling it off entirely and going to bed, he says, “Well, it’s good to know you’re not above guilt tripping me.”

“You’ll get a free meal out of it.”

“I better.”

You perk up a little. “So, is that a yes?”

He doesn’t look pleased, but he shrugs nonetheless. “I guess.”

“Oh, perfect,” you smile and take a bite of your food. “I knew you were my favorite for a reason.”

That earns you a sideways glance and you can almost swear that the corner of Levi's lip twitches up, but the light from the television shifts, enveloping his face in shadow before you’re able to see for sure.

"Sweet thing," he coos as he descends onto you, hot lips on your neck. "My darling girl."

"Please," is all you supply as an answer.

The fragility in your voice makes him take you harder—as if, perhaps, that might be enough to answer your pleas (when really, all your weak, juvenile heart desires is an answer to the insecurities festering within—festering long before you met him).

Take me away, you wish to cry.

Love me, you want to say.

Let me be enough for you.

And when at last your lovemaking is over and Erwin tugs you against his chest in practiced familiarity, you feel his breath settle into easy sleep. There, as he dreams, you watch his ring glisten against your breast in the moonlight.

And in those moments, you're left to wonder:

Your favorite part of the day has always been dinner time. The dining hall always gets loud, exhaustion loosening everyone’s tongues so laughter spills easier and smiles come brighter. It’s usually the same thing every night—Sasha trying to barter food from everyone, Eren and Jean arguing about something stupid and menial again before Mikasa cuts in and threatens to kick both of their asses, and Ymir showering Christa with love and affection. 

You’re halfway through your stew, watching how Mikasa has slowly been moving the carrots she doesn’t want into Eren’s bowl while he talks too passionately to realize it. Your conversation had somehow shifted from your last assessment scores to which superior officers would be easiest to flirt with. Not exactly the most appropriate conversation, but hey, it should be expected of a group of twenty-something year-olds.

Jean suddenly snorts into his cup and says, “Captain Levi is incapable of being flustered.”

Connie barks out a laugh. “Captain Levi? Yeah, no. I think if you flirted with him, he’d just tell you your posture was shit.”

“He might blush if someone compliments his cleaning,” Sasha says.

You laugh at the thought of Levi turning pink over you complimenting his polishing of the floorboards. It’s almost charming. But you’re pulled back into the reality of things quickly, reminded by the sure fact that Levi would be the type to make you run sixty laps for even breathing wrong in his direction. At least he would look irritatingly beautiful barking orders at you.

“Maybe he just needs someone hot to compliment him,” Connie says.

Ymir, sitting beside Christa with one arm draped over her shoulders, rolls her eyes. “Please. That man could walk through a brothel and find the mop sexier.”

The table erupts into laughter. Armin drops his face into one hand, already checked out of the conversation. Christa turns scarlet but presses her lips together, very clearly trying not to laugh. Jean wheezes, and even Mikasa lets out a small, polite laugh. You shouldn’t laugh as hard as you do, because if Levi heard your conversation right now he would probably bury you all six feet under.

Then Eren, who has never met a stupid idea he couldn’t charge at headfirst, leans forward with bright eyes and says, “Someone should test it.”

You pause, nervously playing with the charm of your necklace. Jean is the first to look at you. Then Connie. Then Sasha. Then Ymir, a little more wickedly.

“No,” you say immediately, because you know that look, and you know yourself. “No.”

Jean grins. “Come on.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re the only one who could pull it off.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“You say things to the officers that none of us would ever say,” Connie points out. It would be rude if it weren’t true.

“Maybe you could only do it for a week?” Christa offers.

“A week?” you echo, already feeling the dangerous little spark of interest light inside you. The worst part is that they’re not entirely wrong; you are bold, you are blunt, and you have secretly spent far too much time wondering what it would take to make Levi Ackerman’s perfect composure crack, even if only by a little. “You’re giving me a week to flirt with humanity’s most emotionally repressed man?”

“Get a reaction,” Jean corrects.

“Define reaction,” Armin says.

“Blushing counts,” Eren says.

“Stammering counts,” Jean adds.

“Looking away counts,” Christa says.

“No it doesn’t,” Ymir scoffs. “That could just mean he hates you.”

You cock your head. “To be fair, I think he does hate me.”

“He hates everyone,” Mikasa mumbles.

“What if he flirts back?” Armin asks.

Eren scoffs loudly. “Captain Levi? Flirt back? Be serious.”

Your stomach twists at the thought. You can’t even imagine Levi doing anything as human as flirting. But what if he were to step a little too close, lower his voice to a smooth cadence, fix his eyes on yours and then your lips and then smash his mouth against—

Nope. You’re not going down that mental road again.

You set your spoon down and touch your necklace again. Everyone is watching you intensely. The best move here is to refuse. It’s the most sensible move. Captain Levi isn’t a toy for your entertainment. Making a game out of a man who can kill Titans like swatting flies is going to land you in deep shit. You know that.

And yet, you still smile. “A week?” you ask, leaning back with a confident half-shrug. “Give me three days.”

Jean’s grin widens. “That confidence is exactly why we picked you.”

Ymir snorts into her cup. “No. We picked her because she has no sense of self-preservation. And she’s a fucking idiot.”

The worst part is you can’t even argue with that. Game on.

.

Day one, you begin with too much confidence and nowhere near enough strategy, which, in hindsight, is probably the natural consequence of accepting a bet over dinner while surrounded by idiots.

You see Levi just after breakfast, walking through the corridor with a stack of reports in his arms. He looks somewhat more annoyed today, but because Eren and Jean are watching from around the far corner—not very subtly, might you add—and because you refuse to lose your nerve on the first attempt, you slow your steps just enough to pass him shoulder-to-shoulder and say sweetly, “You look good today, Captain.”

Levi doesn’t stop or look at you. He doesn’t even blink in a way that could potentially be considered meaningful, unless you’re desperate enough to start seeing romantic symbolism in basic human functions now. He simply keeps walking, the scent of his soap trailing behind slapping you in the face. You’re left standing there in the middle of the corridor with your mouth still curved into a smile. Meanwhile, at the end of the hall, Jean presses a fist to his mouth to stop himself from laughing and Eren mouths, Nothing?

Nothing. Not a twitch, not a glance, not even a disgusted little sigh. Fine, you think, watching Levi disappear around the corner. Eren and Jean shoot upright and pretend to engage in conversation, though it’s horribly broken and awkward from what you can hear. The moment Levi’s footsteps fade, Jean shoves Eren’s shoulder, and Eren shoves him back.

First shot missed. Happens to the best of us.

.

By day two, you decide subtlety is the coward’s way.

You happen to run into Levi again in the supply closet. While you’re searching for a specific cleaner, the door opens behind you and he steps inside. Suddenly the cramped room seems to shrink even further. There’s barely enough space for both of you to stand without brushing elbows. He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that you’re so close, naturally. 

Instead, he reaches past you for a rag on the shelf above your shoulder. He leans close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. Your muscles lock momentarily. Damn him for being so attractive. Still, you manage to tilt your chin up and say, “Careful, Captain. Any closer and people might start talking.”

He pulls back and looks at you. For a second, you think you’ll get something. A stammer, a blush if you’re lucky, but Levi only looks unimpressed. It’s the exact same look he gives soldiers when he manages to find a speck of dust after three straight hours of cleaning.

“People already talk,” he says flatly. “Usually because you give them material.”

You swallow a laugh. Damn him. You lean your shoulder against the shelf, trying not to focus on the fact that your pulse has just spiked dramatically. “Oh, we can give them plenty of material.”

Levi takes the rag, steps back, then leaves.

.

By day three, you’re beginning to suspect the bet is cursed.

You’re gathered in the yard for ODM training. Your friends have formed a not-so-suspicious circle across the field. You see them gathered with a false innocence, sneaking glances at you, favoring the potential spectacle awaiting them over doing anything useful.

You check your gear and realize one of your straps at your thigh is loose, the buckle hanging awkwardly against your leg. Before you can crouch down to fix it yourself, someone approaches.

“Hold still,” Levi says.

You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly you obey. He crouches in front of you and grabs the loose strap before you can object. There’s nothing intimate about it, nothing that should make heat rush to your face—and yet it does. You look down at his dark hair and the concentration on his face and think to yourself, this is fine. This is normal. He’s just fixing your gear. You’re not going to die.

Then you remember the bet. Now’s your chance.

“You always this good with your hands, Captain?” you ask, nervously toying with your necklace.

Across the yard, Connie visibly folds in half. Eren grabs Mikasa by the sleeve. Sasha’s mouth drops open. Levi tightens the buckle with one tug and looks up at you, his expression so blank it’s almost hostile in a way.

“Only when someone’s done a shit job and I have to fix it,” he says.

You stare at him as he walks away, unaware of the others across the yard silently screaming into the void.

.

By day four, your pride is no longer bruised. It’s limping, bleeding, and asking whether anyone saw the driver of the carriage that hit it. 

You’re cleaning one of the common rooms with a scrub brush in hand and a flicker of annoyance in your heart when Levi comes to inspect the progress. He steps inside, surveys the floor, the windowsill, the table legs, underneath the tables, and even the door handle.

“Do it over,” he says.

You slowly turn your head toward him. “Excuse me?”

His gaze flicks to the windowsill. “Dust.”

You look behind you at the window. Tragically, there’s dust. It wouldn’t matter to a normal person, but Captain Levi is far from normal when it comes to cleanliness. “You’re very hard to impress, Captain,” you say, forcing your voice to carry a teasing tone instead of something that makes it clear how badly you want to throw the rag at his head.

Levi looks at you, and he doesn’t look away. Standing under his intense gaze like this makes your stomach clench in ways you don’t even want to think about. “And you’re very easy to ignore.”

Your smile twitches before you can stop it. That one stings a bit more. You know Levi isn’t above personal insults, but were you really that forgettable to him? You manage to muster up a bit more courage and say, “You know, I’m more skilled in other areas.”

Levi only quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head. That was enough to pull him in, it seems. Success. “How so?”

You smile, because finally, you’ve found the opening. “You’re not the only one who’s good with their hands.”

Silence. Such deep silence that you could hear a pin drop. Levi holds your gaze for exactly one second before he says, almost bored, “Knock it off and get back to work.”

And just like that, he moves on with his day, leaving you standing in the room with a rag in your hand, a burning face, and a grim realization that you may have underestimated both his composure and his commitment to making you feel like an idiot.

.

The moment you sit down at dinner that night, Connie leans across the table and hides his mouth from the view of the superiors’ table with his hand. “Nothing?”

You drop your head into your hand. “Nothing.”

“Not even a blink?”

“He has eyes, Connie. He’s going to blink,” Mikasa says without looking up from her bowl.

Sasha groans and slumps dramatically over the table, one hand still clutching her apple. “We’re doomed.”

You groan too, louder. “No, just me.”

Jean makes a sympathetic noise that’s ruined completely by the fact that he’s smiling. “You still have three days left.”

“Three days to accomplish the impossible,” Eren mumbles.

Armin, kinder than the rest, tilts his head. “Maybe you need to adjust your approach.”

“My approach is fine,” you say.

“Your approach is dogshit,” Ymir says.

Christa gives you an almost apologetic smile, which makes you feel even worse. You stab at the softened carrots in your stew with one hand and toy with your necklace with the other. Every time you touch it, you remember your mother’s hands in yours, the cold metal in your palm, her soft words wishing you safety and prosperity. You long to see her again. Soon, you think. Soon.

You force yourself to not look toward the officers’ side of the hall, where Levi sits with Hange and Erwin, drinking tea without a care in the world—as if he hasn’t spent the last four days ignoring your best efforts. It should be funny. It was funny, at first. But now his lack of a reaction has begun to get under your skin, turning challenge into irritation, then irritation into a feeling that’s far more embarrassing, because it’s one thing for Levi to ignore the flirting and another thing entirely for him to make you feel like he’s ignoring you.

It’s personal now, you decide. 

.

Levi thinks this is the most irritating week of his life, by far.

It’s not distracting enough to matter, and certainly not enough to affect his work, but it’s definitely irritating. And persistent. You are persistent. You’re always there. In hallways, in supply rooms, in the training grounds, always pushing and pushing, waiting for him to break at the seams. 

Levi doesn’t crack. He’s survived this long by being difficult to shake. Still, he thinks about it—about you—more than he should, and that annoys him the most.

Levi walks into the stables. Hay bales are stacked neatly against the wall. The tack is all lined up and organized in the storage room. He’s only searching for a harness clip, nothing more, because apparently grown soldiers can’t keep equipment where it belongs. He barely passes the first row of stalls before voices reach him from the far end. He recognizes them. Eren, Jean, Armin. Levi stops before they see him. 

“Told you,” Eren says with a hint of smugness. “Captain Levi doesn’t flirt.”

Levi’s brows shift by the smallest degree. 

“She still has two days, Armin says, a little quieter. “And honestly, he’s been looking at her more than usual.”

“Looking annoyed doesn’t count,” Jean laughs. “He looks at everyone like that.”

Levi freezes for a moment, then swallows. Then Eren speaks again, painfully unaware of the grave he’s digging with both hands. “Doesn’t matter. The bet was to make him react. She’s been flirting with him for five days and he hasn’t done anything.”

Levi doesn’t know what to feel at first. Then annoyance practically slams into him. Of course the sudden compliments, the lingering looks, the suggestive comments delivered with too much confidence and nowhere near enough survival instinct are not lapses in judgement but a coordinated effort by the loudest collection of children to ever survive to adulthood.

He almost steps out. He almost makes them regret every syllable. He almost assigns all three of them stable duty until their hands smell permanently of horse shit. He almost leaves to go find you and drag you into his office and inform you that if you have enough free time to treat your commanding officer like a tavern dare, you have enough free time to scrub every inch of the barracks.

But he doesn’t. He remains where he is, half-shadowed beside the tack shelves, and thinks of you when you were in the supply closet with him, your chin tipped up and your mouth spilling smooth words you clearly expected to land, of the flash of irritation in your eyes when he refused to give you anything back.

So, you’ve been trying to break him in front of an audience. Bold. Stupid. And mildly interesting. You want a reaction from him. No. More than that. You want proof that he can be moved, that there’s something you can reach underneath all the discipline and deadpan remarks if you’re reckless enough to keep trying.

Fine. Let’s see how well you handle it when he stops being polite.

He turns without a sound, leaving the missing clip for someone else to find and the three idiots still talking at the far end of the stable, none of them aware that the terms of the bet have just changed.

Two days then. If you wanted a reaction that badly, he could give you one.

.

Day six begins badly, which, considering the trajectory of the week so far, should not surprise you. The morning vanishes beneath papers and one disaster involving Connie dropping a crate of replacement gas canisters. You’re on the last thin shred of your patience. By the time late afternoon rears its ugly head, you’re tired and hungry, having spent five days throwing stones at a wall. You’re considering whether you should just run headfirst into it. But you can’t give up. That would be mortifying. Also Jean would never let you hear the end of it. 

So when you turn the corner into the east corridor and nearly collide with Levi himself, you decide the universe has not abandoned you entirely. He stops before you can hit him, and you catch yourself with one hand against the wall, your heart giving a stupid little kick as you look at him. He looks as he always does: composed, mouth set in a flat line, irritatingly clean despite the hour. 

Fine, you think, dragging your confidence up by the collar. One more time.

You let your smile come slowly, forgetting how the last few days have been consistent public humiliation. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me, Captain.”

Normally, this is where he would keep walking. Normally, he would ignore you and tell you to find something useful to do. But Levi stops beside you, close enough that the corridor feels smaller, close enough that you can smell the last cup of tea he had still lingering on his lips. He turns his head, eyes meeting yours from the side. Your smile falters.

“Why would I?” he asks. Your breath hitches—stupidly. The words themselves are nothing, barely a response, but it’s the way he said them, in a way you’ve never heard from him before, that makes the world stop for just a single second. Then his gaze drops, briefly, and he says, “You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

You forget how to answer. Your mind produces absolutely nothing. You can’t find a single comeback or tease. You technically got him to react, and you should be celebrating, but you can only focus on the fact that Levi has just taken the same game you’ve been playing all week and held it against your throat.

Before you can recover emotionally, he turns and walks away. Just like that. 

You remain there, your hand now nervously touching your charm necklace, staring at him while your heart nearly explodes out of your chest. The worst part isn’t that he answered, but that he answered like he knew exactly what it would do to you.

No. Absolutely not. This is not happening. You are the one flirting with him. You’re the one with the bet, the plan, the reputation for saying things no one else dares to say, and Levi is supposed to be an immovable force. He is not supposed to look at you like that. 

And you are not supposed to feel this way in return.

.

Dinner approaches, and you almost manage to convince yourself that you imagined it. 

He was probably being sarcastic. You’re tired and frustrated and maybe starvation has you seeing seduction where it doesn’t exist. Levi’s voice is always low, his eyes are always intense, and your imagination just lost its grip because you’ve spent too many days thinking about him. 

The mess hall doors open onto chaos. Everyone is trying to leave and enter at once. Soldiers are pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowded corridor, laughter and complaints tangling with the clatter of dishes from inside. You’re caught near the doorway, half-turned as Jean calls to you from the table and Mikasa waves to you.

You start to step aside when you feel a hand settle at the small of your back. Levi moves behind you, close enough that his chest nearly brushes your shoulder as he guides you smoothly out of the flow of traffic. His palm rests low on your back for a moment longer than necessary. Your lungs practically stop working.

“You’re in the way,” he says. 

You turn your head, because apparently you’re feeling particularly self-destructive tonight and want to look directly at the weapon killing you. You find him already watching you. Your mind tells you to take the mercy of silence and leave with whatever remains of your dignity.

But because your survival instincts are apparently the worst and will always lose to your mouth, you say, “You always touch your subordinates like that?”

His hand slips from your back, his eyes holding yours as he answers, low enough that the noise swallows it before anyone else can hear. “You always like getting touched by your superiors, or is it just me?”

Your mouth parts. Nothing comes out. Levi’s eyes flick, very briefly, to your lips, then he steps around you and walks into the mess hall like he didn’t just completely make you short circuit. You stand there in the doorway, heat rushing to your face so fast it nearly makes you dizzy. You reach up to touch your necklace again. You still feel the burn of his palm against your back.

No, no, no. That did not happen. Captain Levi did not just say that to you in a crowded hallway. Captain Levi, who has spent five days ignoring your every attempt to flirt, did not just choose now, now, in front of the open mess hall doors where your idiot friends are sitting within view, to say that.

You turn slowly toward the dining hall. At the table, every single one of them is staring. Eren has a spoon halfway to his mouth. Mikasa is watching you calmly, as she always does. Ymir is smiling widely. Jean’s eyebrows are raised to his hairline. You walk to the table on stumbling legs and sit down shakily.

Jean speaks first. “Well?”

You reach to pick up your spoon, then you realize there is no spoon. You haven’t even gotten your food yet. “W-what?”

“What happened?” Connie demands. “We saw him stop.”

“Did he react?” Eren asks. “Did he blush? Stammer? Look away?”

“Nothing happened,” you say a little too quickly.

Armin tilts his head. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, trying not to spontaneously combust from the inside out.

Eren squints at you. “Why do you look like you just ran thirty laps?”

“Because I hate all of you.”

Sasha gasps softly. “Even me?”

“Especially you,” you joke.

“Oh, come on. Something happened,” Jean laughs.

“Nothing happened.”

“You’re flustered,” Christa says gently. Damn it, of course it had to be her who noticed.

“It’s hot in here.”

“It’s winter,” Mikasa says. You glare at her.

Ymir leans forward, elbows on the table as she rests her chin on her linked hands. “Oh, something definitely happened.”

“It didn’t,” you insist, even though your skin is still burning where his hand touched your back. 

The bet was supposed to be simple. You flirt. Levi refuses to react. You keep pushing until you either win through charm or lose with enough grace to pretend you never cared. At no point was he supposed to turn around and make you feel like the bet had never belonged to you at all.

You stand up and grab your food, your cheeks still hot and shoulders stiff. When you sit back down, Ymir’s gaze follows you. She knows. She absolutely knows. But you tell yourself again that nothing happened as you stab a potato hard enough that it breaks apart in your bowl.

Nothing happened. And if that’s true, then you’re in far more trouble than you thought, because apparently Levi can do absolutely nothing and still ruin you.

.

It’s the final day. The day you either make Captain Levi blush, stammer, or lose composure, or you lose the bet and spend the rest of your life—however short that may be—listening to Eren and Jean taunting you and becoming the most smug humans to ever exist on this earth. You’re much less confident than you were when you started, and truthfully, you’re ready to take the loss and humiliation.

The training yard is blue with the early morning, fog clinging low to the ground while the first soldiers trickle in with their gear half-fastened and their faces pinched against the chill. You stand near the equipment racks with your ODM harness hanging around your hips. Your fingers feel slightly clumsier than usual as you tighten the buckle at your waist. It’s not that you’re nervous. You’re just tired and cold. You’re aware that Levi has spent the last twenty-four hours looking at you as if he knows something you don’t, touching you where he doesn’t need to touch you, speaking in a voice that, franky, should be illegal, and then walking away like nothing ever happened.

You tug the buckle too hard and it nearly pulls the breath out of you. Then it falls loose, and you mutter a low, “Shit.”

You feel someone move behind you. Your heart reacts before the rest of you does.

“Your waist buckle is loose.”

You close your eyes for a brief second. Damn the universe for sending him. If you’re going to lose, you might as well go out strong. “I’ve got it,” you say.

“You don’t,” Levi says.

Before you can argue, he steps in behind you. His hands rise to your waist, grabbing the buckle you were fumbling with, and your spine straightens so fast you might as well have been pulled up by a wire. He’s so damn close. Too damn close. 

There are people in the yard. Not many, but enough. Enough that you can’t turn around and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, enough that you can’t grab his wrist, enough that you can’t do anything except stand there and pretend him correcting your gear isn’t an act of psychological warfare. 

His voice lowers near your ear. “You’re distracted.”

“I’m not,” you say a little too fast.

Levi pulls the buckle tight, enough to force a little “mmph” out of you. You swear you hear him scoff in amusement. “You are.”

“I’m perfectly focused.”

“You’re slower.” His knuckles brush, barely, against your stomach as he tightens the leather. “Your breathing’s off.”

As if your body is eager to prove him right, your breath hitches. You hate him. You hate him so much you want to bite him. You angle your head just enough to speak over your shoulder. “Did you come over here to critique my breathing?”

“No.” He leans in just enough that his next words touch the edge of your ear. “I’m wondering what’s on your mind.” Your first name falls from his lips. You despise how much you like to hear him say it.

Your brain, which has faced Titans, blood, death, and the endless exhaustion of military life, simply abandons you. “I—nothing,” you say, the word catching in your throat. 

Levi freezes for a breath, then finishes buckling your gear. He withdraws his hands, but he doesn’t step back immediately. The absence of his touch feels somehow worse than the touch itself. 

“Save your filthy little thoughts about me for later,” he says.

You freeze. There’s no possible response. Nothing clever nor dignified. Nothing that doesn’t immediately reveal your thoughts, filthy or otherwise. But you realize they’ve already been dragged into broad daylight and inspected by the one man you least want to have that power.

Levi steps around you casually with a perfectly neutral expression, acting as if he hasn’t taken your last functioning nerve between his teeth and smiled around it. You stand there, frozen, your entire body burning. 

Maybe this bet was a bad idea.

.

By midday, you’re coming to terms with the fact that you’re no longer trying to win the bet. You’re just trying to survive the damn thing.

The realization comes to you somewhere between drills and the deeply inconvenient moment when Sasha asks why you keep looking like you expect someone to sneak up on you. Because that’s exactly what it feels like right now; like every corridor has become a battlefield and every corner might contain Levi with another clever line ready to slide under your skin and make its home there.

He’s only doing this because he knows, somehow, because he’s figured out the bet or sensed weakness or simply decides that torturing you is a productive use of his time. That’s what you try to tell yourself, anyway. But none of those explanations quell the heat in your stomach. None of them make you stop remembering the low cadence of his voice. None of them help when you take the stairwell after grabbing a stack of reports to deliver and find him descending from the floor above, eyes already fixed on you as if he knew exactly where you would be.

Your first instinct is to step aside. Your second is to flee. Your third, which is unfortunately the one you choose, is to fight. 

Levi reaches the landing and moves as if to pass you, not stopping, not granting you so much as the satisfaction of another look, and you feel your pride explode in your chest. This is reckless, but when have you ever not been reckless? It led you here, after all.

“If I didn’t know better, Captain, I’d think you were coming onto me,” you say.

Levi stops. Slowly, he turns. His face is unreadable, but his eyes are not empty. They are darkened, focused purely on you and filled with so much control it feels more dangerous than if he had simply smiled.

“You’d know if I were coming onto you,” he says.

A warning. A door. A line on the floor with your toes already over it. Leave it alone. Let him go. Remember that there are only a few hours left in this ridiculous bet and the safest thing in the world would be to stop poking at the man who’s already proven he knows exactly how to make you forget your own name without even touching you.

Stupidly, you say, “Would I?”

For a moment, nothing happens—then Levi steps closer. A single step that takes the distance between you and closes it. His boots echo quietly against the stone. Your back doesn’t touch the wall yet, but every part of you understands that it could. He leans in and you go still. It’s just enough room to move away. But you don’t. His breath brushes your ear as he speaks.

“You’d know,” he says, voice so low the words barely survive the air between you, “because I’d have you backed against this wall and make damn sure you remembered who you were teasing.”

You swear you feel your knees give out. There’s no other way to describe it. A part of you dips, a violent little swoop of heat and shock and want that leaves your fingers tightening around the reports until the papers bend.

Levi draws back just enough to look at you, almost patiently, able to see every ruined thought passing across your face—and he has all the time in the world to watch you suffer through them. You force your mouth open, but nothing coherent arrives. His gaze drops once to your hands clenched around the reports, then he steps past you, the sleeve of his jacket brushing your arm.

You nearly pass out when his footsteps finally fade away.

.

Hours later, after dinner, you and your friends gather in the yard, warm with lantern light and the fading noise of the day. The sky above the barracks deepens into a royal blue. You sit on the grass with your friends, trying to look as normal as possible and most likely miserably failing.

The bet is nearly over. You’ve technically won it, but for some reason, you don’t want to admit it, because if you do, the things Levi said and did become real. Still, you don’t tell them anything. Connie is looking at the stars, Sasha is finishing the last of her crackers that she snuck out of the mess hall, Jean is laying down with his hands behind his head, Mikasa is watching the yard, and Ymir keeps glancing at you with an expression that suggests she knows there’s blood in the water and she’s simply waiting for you to admit you’ve been bitten.

Eren is the one who finally breaks. He waits until the last bell rings from somewhere inside the barracks, marking the end of the day. He smiles and looks at you so smugly it makes you want to slap him.

“That’s it,” he says. “Told you. Captain Levi doesn’t give a shit about romance.”

The others groan, laugh, and argue, immediately debating technicalities, because Jean insists there may still be time if Levi walks through the yard in the next thirty seconds, and Connie says you should just sprint inside and say something ridiculous in case it works. 

You hear it all from very far away, because you know with certainty that Levi didn’t blush, nor stammer, nor look away. He didn’t lose. Not where anyone could see, at least. Eren is right. Jean is right. Everyone is right. 

But they don’t know about the corridor, about his hand at your back, about the training yard and the filthy little thoughts he somehow spoke into existence just by naming them; they don’t know about the stairwell, about the way his voice lowered just for you, about the wall that never touched your back but has been haunting you for hours anyway.

You sit there in the grass with your face turned toward the darkening yard, letting the others mourn and gloat around you, while the memory of his words presses insistently at the forefront of your mind.

You’d know.

You press your lips together and say nothing, because the truth is yours now—and Levi’s.

And that might be worse than losing.

.

Several days pass, and in that time, Levi Ackerman becomes a ghost. He’s somehow everywhere and nowhere at once. In the courtyard while you’re sharpening your blades, standing at the edge of the formation while you run drills, passing through the dining hall with a cup of tea in one hand; and every time you see him, every time his eyes flick over you, your mind drags itself to the stairwell again. 

You try to be normal about it. Privately, you fail, but in public, you’re a master of composure—or at least that’s what you tell yourself every time you miss a cue or spend a full three seconds staring at Levi’s mouth during morning briefing. You spend too long trying not to think about him, and the act of thinking about him suddenly becomes the only thing you know how to do.

Then the summons comes, delivered after dinner by a junior soldier, who says, with a nervous little glance over his shoulder, that Captain Levi wants to see you in his office.

“Did he say why?” you ask.

The soldier clears his throat. “Performance issues.”

The others at the table look at you with a mix of confusion and pity, but you don’t look back at them. You simply stand, smooth down your jacket, and walk out of the dining hall while desperately trying to ignore the fact that your heart is about to explode.

Outside Levi’s office, you lift your hand to knock, but you pause when you become aware of the warmth gathering underneath your collar. This is ridiculous. You’re a soldier. You’ve faced Titans. You’ve bled, trained, survived, laughed in the face of exhaustion, taken orders from men twice as loud and half as terrifying, and you are not going to break down just because Levi asked to speak with you behind a closed door.

You knock.

“Come in.”

You open the door. Levi’s office is exactly as it always is; painfully neat, the shelves orderly and every stack of papers aligned neatly. A single lantern burns on his desk, where he sits with a report open in front of him and a cup of tea sitting near his right hand. He doesn’t look up immediately, and it makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” you ask, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

Levi lifts his eyes and says, “Sit.”

Your spine reacts to the order first as you enter the room and sit in the chair opposite his desk with as much grace as you can muster, which isn’t a lot under the circumstances.

“Am I in trouble?” you ask.

Levi leans back slightly, his fingers resting against the edge of the report. He studies you carefully. “Depends how honest you plan on being.” You smile despite the cold chill running down your spine. He narrows his eyes at you. “Your focus has been shit.”

Well. Not the line you expected, maybe, but the tone is familiar enough to turn into irritation, and you’d rather deal with irritation than the other feeling gathering in your stomach.

“My focus is fine,” you say, more meekly than you’d like.

“No, it isn’t.” Levi closes the report. “Your turns were wide during drills yesterday. Your reaction time was slow this morning. You checked your gear and didn’t realize your gas pressure regulation valve was broken.”

Your lips part, then close again. Damn him. “That was one mistake.”

“Several mistakes.”

“I was tired.”

“You’ve been tired before. You’re sloppier when you’re distracted. And you’ve been distracted.”

Heat starts rushing to your face. “Is that what this is about? My form?”

“It’s about performance issues.”

Your body locks up. Levi’s expression doesn’t change, and that’s the worst part, because his face remains perfectly neutral while the words crawl under your skin, dragging every memory of the last two weeks with them. His hand at your lower back, his voice at your ear, his proximity in the stairwell, his near-command to save your filthy thoughts for later. You try to breathe through your nose.

“My performance is fine,” you say.

“It’s shit,” he says.

You grip the arms of the chair a bit tighter. “Did you just call me in here to insult me?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Levi sits in the silence for a moment, then he says, “Next time you make a bet involving me, pick a group of idiots that won’t talk about it loudly.”

You swear your stomach drops so fast that the whole room spins around you. Your vision blurs and your mind scrambles backward through every report, every hallway attempt, every bold little comment you’d thrown at him. He knew. Levi knew.

You stare at him, completely frozen, shame flooding through you before anger surges to meet it. Not only did he know, but he had let you keep going, watched you struggle, and taken the game from your hands and turned it against you.

“You knew?” you say.

“Since day five.”

Your face burns. The air in the office suddenly feels suffocating. “And you just let me keep going?”

You swear you see Levi’s eyes glint with amusement. “No. I started playing.”

You stand suddenly, chair scraping back against the floor loudly. “That was petty, Captain. Were you trying to embarrass me?”

“You’re the one who was trying to make me blush in front of half the regiment.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, because he’s infuriatingly, humiliatingly right, and he knows it. “That was different,” you say weakly.

“How?”

“It was a bet.”

“Mm.” Levi steps out from behind the desk. “That makes it better?”

You hold your ground as he rounds the desk, though you become increasingly aware of the closed door, his desk behind you as you turn around, how his shoes make almost no sound against the floor. Your pulse skips.

“It was harmless,” you say.

“It was stupid.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

His eyes lock onto yours. “No. I didn’t.”

Your back suddenly meets the edge of the desk. You hadn’t even realized you were stepping back. Levi doesn’t touch you, but he steps close enough that the space between you becomes a silent dare, and when his hands come down on either side of you, palms braced against the desk, you’re caged without being held. Trapped only because neither of you has chosen to move.

He’s left you room to step away. You could step away. But he’s so close. He’s close enough that you can see the shadows beneath his eyes and the faint scar above his eyebrow. Your breath thins. Levi’s gaze sharpens on you.

“You’re very bold when there’s an audience,” he murmurs.

You swallow, but your throat feels dry. “And when there isn’t?”

For the first time, something almost like a smile threatens the corner of his mouth. He cocks his head slightly. “That’s what I called you here to find out.”

The office goes silent. It presses around you, filling the space between your faces, making you conscious of every small thing surrounding you: the desk biting into your thighs, the faint scent of tea gone cold, the lantern flame shifting in its glass, Levi’s hands braced on either side of you, close enough that your own fingers could reach his wrists if you dared.

Your anger is still there, and your embarrassment too, but beneath both, beneath the humiliation of being caught and the fury of being played, something else opens its eyes, a recklessness that’s starving for touch. It’s been alive since the corridor, since the stairwell, since the first time Levi turned the game back on you.

His gaze drops to your mouth. Yours drops to his. Neither of you moves. You can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears now, unsteady despite your best efforts to calm it. Your hands grip the desk behind you. The urge to say something snarky leaps to your lips, but you have nothing. You’re completely, utterly speechless.

But you feel the smallest flare of courage. And with that courage, you’re able to whisper three simple words.

“I dare you.”

The kiss is nowhere near gentle. It’s controlled for a single second, just a firm press of his mouth against yours, like he’s giving you exactly one moment to pull away; and when you don’t move, when your hands leave the desk to grab his cravat and pull him deeper in, his restraint breaks. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s been counting every reckless word you threw at him and has finally decided to answer all of them at once.

Your legs press into the desk as his body leans in, one hand leaving the wood to rest on your waist, the other sliding to your jaw. You make a small sound against his mouth that you would absolutely deny under oath, but Levi hears it, feels it, and answers by tilting your head exactly how he wants it. Your thoughts turn into complete static, but only one breaks through.

This is the reaction you wanted. Not a blush or a stammer. This.

Levi pulls away to breathe, his mouth still close enough to brush yours. His hand is still firm at your waist. You don’t speak, and neither does he. You notice the darkening of his eyes. Yours are fixed on his mouth. Then his thumb moves along your jaw.

“You wanted honest,” he says quietly.

You smile against his mouth and whisper, “I wanted a reaction.”

Levi scoffs. “You got one.”

His mouth crashes back into yours, tongue sliding against yours. One of his hands fists in the fabric at your lower back, pulling you against him. The other cups the nape of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you. You feel the way his breath hitches once before he deepens the kiss even further. He’s done waiting.

He tears his mouth away again, voice low and rough. “Bedroom.”

“Is that an order, Captain?” you tease.

Levi’s mouth twitches into something almost resembling a smirk. “It’s an invitation. Don’t confuse the two.”

His fingers lace through yours and he leads you out of the office, down the short hallway to his private quarters. The door shuts behind you, and then he’s on you again, mouth hungry, hands already working at your straps. You push his cravat aside and unbutton his shirt with equal urgency. Every brush of his hands against your skin sends sparks racing through you. 

You reach up to your neck and unclasp your necklace, setting it carefully on the small table beside his bed. You’ve never taken it off, so the absence doesn’t register at first. When it does, you feel more naked, despite already fully being so. Then you turn back to him. Levi watches the movement, then his hands return to your bare waist, guiding you backward until the edge of the mattress meets the backs of your knees. He gives you the gentlest push and you sink onto the bed, the sheets cold against your skin.

Levi follows you down, bracing on one forearm as he kisses you again. His free hand trails along your side, mapping the curve of your waist, the flare of your hip. He breaks the kiss to move lower, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat, then the slope of your collarbone, then lower still. 

When his lips close over once nipple you arch, a soft sound escapes you. He sucks gently at first, then with more pressure, tongue circling the sensitive bud while his thumb teases the other. The dual attention makes your walls flutter around nothing. You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling the satisfaction that rolls through him at every gasp you give.

He continues downward, kissing a path over your stomach and your hipbone. He bites gently, leaving a whisper of a mark. His hands part your thighs and then suddenly, without warning, his mouth is on you, tongue stroking slowly. At the same time two fingers slide inside, curling so perfectly that your vision blurs for a moment.

Levi’s thoughts are focused on only one thing: he wants to feel you come apart, wants to hear every sound you make when there’s no audience left to perform for. He works you steadily, tongue flicking and sucking at your clit while his fingers stroke that perfect spot again and again.

Your own thoughts scatter now. The bet feels distant, ridiculous compared to the reality of Levi’s mouth and hands. Pleasure builds fast, coiling tighter with every pass of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers. Your hips move without conscious thought, chasing the sensation. Levi’s free hand presses your thighs wider, keeping you open for him. The quiet growl he lets out against you vibrates through your core. Your inner walls clench around him, urging him deeper.

“Levi, please,” you whimper, hands tangling in his hair as you grind against his face. “Need more.”

With a low chuckle, he adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he picks up the pace. His tongue dances over your clit, sending a wave of ecstasy through you. He doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. Your thighs close around his head. One hand flies from his head to the sheets, gripping tight.

In a moment of surprising tenderness, he reaches out for your hand with his free one, lacing your fingers together. His other hand is still preoccupied, fingers thrusting deep and curling against your g-spot. The tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Your quiet moans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure that seems to drive Levi on.

Your orgasm comes so suddenly it catches you by surprise. Your body clenches around his fingers as wave after wave rolls through you. You cry out, back arching off the bed, your hand in his hair tightening its grip on his locks. Levi doesn’t stop until the tremors ease, drawing every last ripple of pleasure from you with careful strokes of his tongue. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dark and intent, lips glistening. He kisses the inside of your thigh once, then moves back up your body to press his mouth to yours.

Your heavy breaths turn into small, hitched inhales as your pulse races. Levi’s weight settles partly over you, one hand stroking your side. You feel his cock twitch against you. You reach for him, pulling him closer, and he comes willingly, his chest pressed against yours as he grinds his hips down to meet yours, his length sliding over your wetness. 

He then pulls back, eyes searching your face. There’s a softness in the way he lifts his hand and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He feels the rapid flutter of your heart through your chest. He’s been denying it for days now, but he’s wanted this. He wanted it since the first time you tried to make him react, but he needs to know you do too.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

You nod without hesitation. “Yes.”

Levi watches you for another second, looking for any signs of doubt, then he settles between your thighs. His hand guides himself to your entrance, and the first press of him stretches you in a way you never could have prepared for. He’s thicker than you expected, the tip parting you slowly. The sensation is overwhelming at first. You feel every inch as he sinks deeper. Your body yields around his solid girth. A quiet sound escapes you, half gasp and half moan. Levi stills once he’s fully inside you, giving you time to adjust.

He takes both of your hands in his and lifts them above your head, pinning them gently to the mattress. His fingers are laced through yours. He begins to move, slow rolling thrusts that you feel the full stretch each time he pushes in. The push of him inside you is deep, hitting places that make your toes curl.

Sensations layer one over another: the slickness, the pressure against your inner walls, your hips tilting to take him deeper. He lowers his mouth to your neck, lips brushing first. Then his teeth graze in a light bite, the sensation racing down your spine. You feel the sting melt into heat, and he soothes it with a slow kiss before biting again, a little harder this time.

Against your skin he murmurs, “You feel so good.” 

The words spread through you in a rush of heat. He shifts your hands and grips both of them with just one of his, while he slides his now free hand down to grip your hip, steadying you as he thrusts again, deeper. You kiss him when he lifts his head, mouths meeting in an open exchange that still tastes faintly of you. He pulls back enough to speak, still moving inside you with long strokes. 

“Is this what you wanted?”

You nod, a moan threading through the motion, your body arching to meet each thrust. The stretch is constant, a fullness that blanks your mind. Levi feels the way you clench around him and the small tremors in your thighs. He slows deliberately, hips rolling in a lazy pace that keeps him buried deep but denies the hard friction you’re starting to crave.

“Yeah?” he says, tilting his head. “Wouldn’t like it if I stopped now, would you?”

You shake your head, no words yet, just the desperate cling of your legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Your hands flex under his hold. You feel the strength in his grip. You couldn’t break free if you tried, and somehow, the contrast of tenderness and control makes heat flood through you again.

Levi’s mouth curves slightly. “That’s right. You want me to keep going, pretty girl?” He leans down, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “Come on, use your words.”

You nearly crack under the weight of his words. Your voice comes out breathy and urgent. “Please don’t stop. Keep going, Levi. I need it. Need it harder.”

He obliges without hesitation. His pace shifts, thrusts growing harder, the bed creaking softly beneath you as he drives in with more force. His thickness fills you completely with each stroke. The wet sound of it mixes with the quiet moans he lets out against your neck. He bites there again, teeth sinking just enough to mark without breaking skin. He kisses the spot, tongue soothing the sting. 

A rush of emotion floods you through the physicality of it all, a mix of being wanted so thoroughly and the unexpected gentleness in how he holds you even while fucking you harder. The moment Levi releases your hand to brace himself properly, you drag your nails down his back, the urge to mark him back rising. The scratches start light but deepen with the next thrust. Levi’s voice comes low near your ear.

“Not too hard, love.”

You nod quickly, the word settling somewhere low in your stomach. You know why he said that. Marks like that would be impossible to hide in the showers. Questions would rise. Explanations you couldn’t give. You ease the pressure of your nails, letting your hands smooth over his skin instead. You feel the flex of his muscles beneath. 

Levi doesn’t falter, his hips snapping down in a rhythm that pushes you higher again. He kisses you to muffle the louder moans that slip out of you, his mouth claiming yours while he drives deep. The tip of him brushes your cervix with every stroke. You feel the tension coiling in him, the way his breathing grows rougher, the subtle tremor in his arms holding his body up. His own pleasure builds, the quiet sounds he makes rising in volume, murmured words of how perfect you feel around him, how much he’s thought about this. 

The pace stays relentless, but he still holds enough control that he doesn’t get lost in the haze. You cling to him with your legs. He kisses your neck again. You feel the precipice approaching for him, the way his thrusts grow slightly erratic, his quiet moans turning into messier, louder groans.

When he pulls out at the last moment, it’s with a low moan, and he shoots ropes across your stomach. The sight of it, the claim on your skin, the way his body shudders through his release, almost makes you cum again on the spot. 

Levi stays close afterward, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. He kisses you gently, fingers stroking over your wrists where he held them before to check without words that you’re alright. You nod silently. He suddenly stands on slightly shaking legs and crosses the room to retrieve a cloth. He sits beside you and wipes you carefully before lying beside you, one arm draped over your waist. 

You turn into him, closing your eyes, not worrying about what the morning will bring. Right now, it’s just you and him, and the very distant thought that you’ll have to thank the others for throwing you into this bet.

.

The morning after is painfully awkward.

Surely, you can survive sitting down with your friends after spending the night with Levi. Surely. Probably. Maybe, if no one looks at you too closely.

You slide onto the bench beside Sasha, trying not to remember Levi’s hands on your waist, Levi speaking against your lips, Levi’s breath finally turning uneven in the dark when your fingers dragged through his hair and pulled a rough sound from his throat that absolutely would have counted as a reaction if the rest of these idiots had been there to witness it.

Then again, fucking your captain probably counts as a reaction too.

Sasha looks up from her breakfast. “You’re late.”

“I slept in,” you answer smoothly.

Ymir, sitting across from you with Christa close at her side, narrows her eyes immediately. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“That sounded defensive.”

“That’s because I’m being attacked before I’ve had tea.”

Jean and Connie snicker. Then Connie sighs and shakes his head, saying with genuine disappointment, “I still can’t believe you couldn’t get the Captain to react. I was so sure you could do it.”

Oh, you did it alright. 

“I did my best,” you say.

Ymir props her chin on her hand and smiles lazily. “Please. No one could ever make Levi blush or stammer. The whole thing was a waste of fucking time.” She pauses, then adds, “A funny waste of time, though. That was pathetic.”

Jean points his spoon at you without looking at you. “She did get him to talk to her more than usual.”

Armin suddenly says your name. All eyes turn to him. He tilts his head, eyes locked onto your throat. “Where’s your necklace?”

Your hand goes to your throat and meets bare skin. Your heart drops through the floor, through the earth itself where it can lie down and die in peace. You know where it is. You know exactly where it is. But you cannot tell the truth, because you would absolutely never hear the end of it.

“I must’ve forgotten to put it on,” you say, and immediately slap yourself in your mind because you have never forgotten to put on your necklace, because you never take it off except for showers.

Then you feel it on the hairs on the back of your neck. Someone’s approaching. But before you can turn around, a hand enters your vision and sets something down on the table in front of you. Oh gods, you know those hands. They were all over you last night.

You look up and your entire soul leaves your body.

“You left this,” Levi says.

You look down at what he set down. It’s your necklace. Right there, on the table, beside your hand. In front of everyone. No one speaks. No one breathes. You stare at the necklace and it feels like its staring back in disappointment at you.

Levi turns and walks away without another word. When you look up, every single head is turned to you. You look back down at the necklace, your face absolutely boiling with embarrassment and the memory of last night. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Why did the Captain have your necklace?” Connie asks.

You pick it up with slightly shaking fingers. “That is… a great question.”

Jean leans forward. “And?”

“And I’m admiring how great it is.”

Eren’s eyes are now huge, both horrified and fascinated. “Wait, did you manage to get him to react?”

You look down at the necklace of your palm, remembering Levi’s hands lacing through yours, his mouth lavishing attention on your neck, his body settled between your thighs, his praises and moans and whispers—all things you will be taking to your grave and beyond it.

Then you smile.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

thank you for reading, and for allowing me to reach this milestone <3

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